


Tell the Truth and Run

by autisticblueteam



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Trafficking, Mercenaries, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Non-binary Agent Connecticut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Agent South Dakota
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 136,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9795278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autisticblueteam/pseuds/autisticblueteam
Summary: Project Freelancer fell. Agents scattered. News spread to even the farthest reaches of human civilisation. Connie and South find themselves two of the UNSC’s most wanted, trying to outrun the reverberations of Project Freelancer’s collapse in a stolen ship, with stolen armour and nothing but their skills to their name.Well, at least mercenary work pays well.But the project never seems far behind them. Sometimes it feels like it’s only a matter of time before it catches up with them. And they can only run so fast.[Updates every other Thursday]





	1. Collapse

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the big project that I’ve been rambling about on my blog for a while. This is an idea I have had for a long time (in fact I posted a fic set in an early version of this AU 9 months ago for fluff week), and now have finally planned in its entirety.
> 
> (Any questions about triggers, the minor ships, etc. welcome. My tumblr is the same as my username here!)

Every step was agony. Pain seared through her gut, threatening to overwhelm her at any moment and make her even more useless in their attempts to move. All that kept her grounded was the feeling of an arm wrapped tight around her; of a hand over hers where she clutched at her wound; and the familiar voice that was cursing up a storm. Everything ahead of her seemed distant and blurry and her consciousness was barely with her, but these three things were clear as day. With every agonising step she forced herself to focus on that voice, just to keep herself afloat. She just had to stay awake long enough to get on the Pelican, that’s it. Just a little further−

Armoured feet against the metal floor of an empty ship made a distinctive sound, loud and echoing in a way that usually struck Connie’s nerves, but that was now a relief. Her knees gave out beneath her within the next two steps, the support and the grounding touches torn away as she stumbled to the ground. Pain radiated up her arm as her free hand flew out to brace for her fall, and her elbow buckled. A weak groan pushed against her gritted teeth and pressed lips, the fall against the floor pushing her arm hard against her wound. Momentarily blinded by the pain, everything became louder. She could hear every drop of blood hitting the floor; every one of her own ragged breaths; her own blood rushing in her ears. It was all so _loud_ and suddenly everything else was distant and hazy and−

Strong hands grasped her, chasing the haze away and helping her up to her knees. Connie’s full weight slumped against her side, her head falling against her shoulder; but even then, she shook her head.

“G-Go, get− get the sh-ship m-move− moving…” Her words trailed off into a muffled groan of pain, shaking fingers digging into the unarmoured parts of the shoulder her arm slung across. It was an effort to lift her head, and her eyes refused to focus enough to see anything more than a purple blur, “S-South… W-We need to get− get out of here…”

A frustrated growl broke past South’s gritted teeth. Tapping the front of her helmet against the top of Connie’s she jumped up to her feet and dashed for the cockpit, every step sending a thundering echo through the Pelican bay. It was hardly seconds later that Connie heard the tell-tale sound of the rear bay door closing, and the engines roared to life.

With what strength she had left, she planted her free hand firmly against the floor and forced herself up to one knee, and then up to her feet. One step at a time she stumbled towards the rear bay door, and towards the med-kit on the wall beside it. Every heavy fall of her feet against the floor sent jolts through her nerves, and every step made sharp, angry pains flare through her gut. When the Pelican lurched off of the ground, her feet slipped from under her and she _slammed_ into the wall; tears welled in her eyes, a pained, choked gasp slipping through parted lips. Yet still she gritted her teeth, pushed herself up from the wall, and tore open the med-kit.

Wrapping a hand tight around the biofoam canister, she braced herself. The burning sensation tore through her, red-hot agony that had her gasping for breath. Her legs trembled, giving out beneath her−she barely caught herself on the wall. Forcing her shaking hand to move she finished applying the biofoam, the canister falling to the floor with a sharp clang. And then her knees buckled, taking away what little support she had left and sending her falling to the floor and−

Arms wrapped around her, guiding her down gently.

“Fucking _shit_ , Connie what the _fuck_ why did you _move_?! Fucking _shit_ fucking _cock_ fucking−” She trailed into an incoherent stream of panicked curses. Her hands flailed everywhere, not knowing what to do, until one of Connie’s hands reached up and gave one of hers a weak squeeze, drawing all of her attention, “C-Connie, fuck, I−”

“T-Tasha, fo-focus. I-I’m gonna talk you through how to help me, ok-okay?” When she felt South’s stature tense, she squeezed her hand as tightly as she could, “F-Focus, Tasha.”

South gritted her teeth, free hand tearing off her helmet and then grabbing for the med-kit, “I _know_ how to do field medicine!”

Another squeeze.

“I’m going to t-talk you through how to help me.” Because you’re panicking, and you don’t think clearly when you panic.

Cursing, South slammed a fist against the floor. Pulling the med-kit to her side she laid it open and took a deep breath, but failed to steady her shaking voice.

“Fine.”

Connie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the taste of blood in her mouth, “C-Cut my suit so you can get at the wound.”

Heavy duty scissors brushed past her skin−cold, so cold−as they sliced through the already damaged kevlar. Blood made the material stick to her skin, her teeth gritting against the pain of it being pulled away. The numbing effects of the biofoam had finally started to take hold, dulling the more severe pain and clearing her head enough to keep her words straight. And still, she was teetering dangerously close to either a meltdown or unconsciousness.

“O-Okay, now y-you need to−”

It wasn’t pleasant. Connie found herself slamming her open palms against the hard metal floor to try and draw her own attention away from the pain, focusing on the jolts that shot up her arm and the instructions she was giving. Her helmet was throwing up unhelpful warnings about her suit’s compromised integrity and her blood loss, telling her to seek emergency medical attention and abandon current objective. She’d have found them morbidly amusing any other day−as if the Director _ever_ let them follow those recommendations−but now they were little more than a distraction, driving her to pull off her helmet and let it fall haphazardly to the floor.

A hand cupped her cheek, and she flinched at the wet feeling of blood on her skin.

“Connie?”

“I-I’m fine, just− just keep− keep g-going…” She mumbled, leaning into the touch. She could barely feel the pressure against her cheek, only the unpleasant warm, wet sensation of blood. Swallowing despite the taste of iron, her words were breathy and indistinct, “I− y-you just need… need to…”

Blackness crept in at the edges of her vision. She tried to fight it, tried to focus on the pain to bring her back around, but her eyes began to droop. She could hear South’s panicked voice, telling her to keep her eyes open, telling her to stay _awake_ goddammit! She could feel her slapping the side of her face, squeezing her hands, trying everything to keep her conscious, just to keep her _conscious_ , but−

Her eyes slid closed and the world went black.

 

 **Three Weeks Ago**  

“Sooo, when is this dickhead calling again?”

South’s eyes and nose peeped up over the top of Connie’s shoulder, the tickly sensation of Connie’s hair against her nose making it crinkle up. Huffing, she blew it out of the way.

“In about five minutes,” Connie said over the tapping of keys. The PC she had set up in front of her definitely wasn’t one belonging to the project, it was a different make and besides, Connie’s equipment privileges had been revoked months ago. South didn’t know where she got it from, and honestly she didn’t care to ask; Connie told her everything she really needed to know. “And don’t call him a dickhead, he’s helping.”

South snorted, “Just calling ‘em like I see ‘em babe. You can’t deny the guy’s a fucking asswipe.”

Connie sighed softly, reaching a hand back and lacing it into South’s hair. She leant into the touch gladly, burying her face into the soft skin of her shoulder and fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Connie let herself relax into the hold for a moment before patting down South’s now mussed up hair and returning to her typing.

“I guess I can’t. He does seem to have a bit of a problem with boundaries,” She said.

“Now _that’s_ the understatement of the fucking _century_ ,” South said. She pulled Connie back against her chest a little tighter, nuzzling against the crook of her neck and letting her lips brush against her pulse. Connie made a content sound. “Look I know I only got in on this whole y’know, espionage−” (“That makes this sound _much_ more sophisticated than it is.”) “−deal since we got back from the fucking scrapyard, but the dude’s clearly a dickbrain who doesn’t know when to back off! You told me your-fucking-self, he tried to get you to leave!”

“I know,” Connie sighed, slumping back and letting all of her weight rest on South.

“So I _think_ I can call him a fucking asshole.”

“I don’t think you’ve called him the same insult more than once this entire conversation,” Connie said, tilting her head back to look up at her, eyebrow cocked and an amused smirk on her lips. South just grinned in return. “You’re _hopeless_.”

Her words lost a little of their authority when she was muffling them by giving South a lazy, upside-down kiss. They lost even more authority when she let out a quiet gasp as South’s hands slipped up under her tank top, cold fingers against warm skin−

−and the sound of an incoming communication.

“ _Shit_!” Connie jerked away, pressing a clumsy kiss to South’s cheek and then shoving her, “Go! Out of view of the camera!”

“I can’t _believe_ I just got cockblocked by this cockmunch,” South groaned, falling to the floor with a thud in her attempts to scramble off of the bed. When Connie blindly flailed a leg at her, aiming to push her shoulder but instead getting her cheek, she was halfway between laughing and swatting back before she shuffled out of the way. Crawling across the floor of her own bunk, how dignified.

Connie barely had time to straighten out her tank top and attempt to look presentable before accepting the communication, barely a second before it timed out. Brushing her hair behind her ear she greeted the man on the other end of the link.

“ _What was the delay, Connie?_ ” He asked immediately.

South made an extravagant gesture of rolling her eyes, flopping back onto the floor.

“Sorry, I had to get rid of a nosy teammate first,” Connie replied, focusing on his brow to give the illusion she was meeting his eyes.

“ _What? Connie, I told you that you need to leave that ship! If they’re catching on−_ ” The leader said, his voice rising sharply. South’s eyes widened, and she pushed up on her elbows to give Connie a pointed look over the top of her screen.

“They’re not catching on!” Connie said frantically, waving her hands defensively, “Jarrett, I told you back in the scrapyard. They know no more now than they did then. No one suspects me. Wash was checking I was okay after my mission! That’s _all_.”

“ _Fine. But I still say you should have left long before now_.”

“I know, but I can’t,” Then, as an afterthought, “Not yet.”

South silently groaned, held her hands up and strangled the air. Connie, luckily having practice both at lying to Jarrett and at keeping a straight face through South’s antics, didn’t react. No matter how much she wanted to.

The rest of the call went smoothly− _despite_ South’s insistence on pulling faces at almost everything Jarrett said, testing Connie’s poker face to its limit−and they organised Connie’s next intel drop. Jarrett signed off with one final comment urging Connie to leave the _Mother of Invention_ and the project behind, and she did her best to dismiss it with a simple ‘I’ll think about it’. Though when the call dropped, he looked far from pleased.

“Dick. Head.”

Connie heaved a breath, letting the unnatural tension fall from her shoulders, “I know.”

South pushed herself up so she was leaning back on her palms, watching Connie close the PC and stow it away somewhere that room inspections wouldn’t catch. Only when Connie beckoned her forward with a ‘come here’ gesture did she get up, clambering back onto the bed and scooping Connie into her lap. Connie shuffled around, hooking her legs over either side of South’s hips and looping her arms around her neck. If South’s hands settled on her ass, she didn’t complain.

“You looked _so fucking uncomfortable_ , Connie,” South said, not stopping when Connie opened her mouth, “Don’t worry he wouldn’t have fucking noticed, he doesn’t know you like I do. You shouldn’t have to play along with that. D’you want me to kill him? I can totally kill him.”

Connie’s tense expression cracked as she laughed, shaking her head.

“Unfortunately we need him.”

South snorted, “Well _that’s_ no fun.”

“I’m a _real_ spoilsport, I know,” Connie said. Twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger, she pulled herself up a little close to South, “And I’m afraid I’m going to be even _more_ of a spoilsport now, because I have training with Wash.”

South let out a dramatic groan, and Connie burst into giggles.

 

 **One Week Ago**  

Her fists slammed against the bag in rounds of three, forceful and heavy punches that sent the bag flying back. She cycled through rounds without any proper breaks, just seeking out the feeling of hitting _something_. Something that _wasn’t_ the Director’s fucking face, or the Counselor’s, or _someone_ else who was to _blame_ for this. Feeling the force of her hits and the weight of the bag bruise her knuckles, turning them red and raw, was the only thing keeping her from storming into the Director’s office right now and beating his sorry ass into the floor. Everything about this was his fucking fault, everything that had happened was _his fucking fault_ and−

Behind her, the door slid open. Rapid punches coming to a halt, South slumped against the heavy bag, forehead against the leather. Pushing herself up, she snatched a towel from the floor and wiped her face.

“Any news?” She asked, swallowing hard to wet her rough throat.

Connie sighed, “No change. He’s still under.”

“God-fucking- _dammit_!” South cursed, throwing the towel to the ground and slamming her fist into the bag once more, “Taking the damn thing out of his head was supposed to _help_! Not put the kid under for another fucking week!”

“We have no way to know how much damage it did when it…” She trailed off, sighing, “You know.”

“Yeah. I know,” South said, voice low. She turned around, leant back against the bag with her eyes on the floor. She didn’t hear Connie cross the room, only realised she had when both of Connie’s smaller hands took one of hers, holding it up and examining the reddened skin, the scrapes.

“You should have been wearing gloves,” She said, sighing softly and kissing her knuckles, “Come on, sit on the bench.”

South didn’t protest, all of her energy expended. She padded over to the bench that sat against the wall and dropped onto it with a thud, hands laid over her knees. Connie took a med-kit from the wall and knelt in front of her, laying the open kit on the bench beside her and digging out what she needed. South gritted her teeth and hissed as Connie dabbed at the cuts and scrapes with a saline-soaked pad, flexing her hands.

“Stings like a bitch.”

“I know.”

A moment’s pause, then: “Shit’s really going to hell, isn’t it?”

Connie sighed, dabbing the last of the cuts on her knuckles clean and starting to unravel the last of her wraps. Her brow furrowed a little, a look South knew well; she didn’t try to rush her.

“Everything’s… happened a lot quicker than any of us expected,” She said. Rolling up South’s wraps and setting them down on the bench, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at the camera watching the room, “We couldn’t have known what Epsilon was going to do to Wash. Or about anything that’s happened recently.”

“Ha, yeah. Couldn’t have known shit,” South said, hands curling into fists, “Like that Innie nearly shooting you in the damn chest.”

“Like that,” Connie stood, looked down at South. She brushed the dyed tips of her hair−fading, she hadn’t touched them up in a while−out of her face, resting her hand on her cheek, “I feel a little uneasy too, South. But all we can do is keep going. We’re doing the right thing. It’s the only chance we have.”

South huffed, but leant her head into her hand.

She was right.

Unfortunately.

 

 **Two Hours Ago**  

As the night cycle approached, the lights in the locker room began to dull. It had been a long day of rigorous training, for everybody−well, everybody that was conscious. The Director had been cracking down on their daily routine, filling time as if he were determined to leave them the absolute minimum free-time possible. Or perhaps the absolute minimum amount of time to think.

One by one everyone had filtered out of the locker room. Carolina was never there, when the training floor had cleared she’d stayed behind for some more, undisturbed, training. Tex had never even been on the floor. Maine had left almost as soon as they’d arrived, staying only long enough to grab their data-pad from their locker before leaving with their armour still on. Wyoming took enough time to toss his damaged helmet into armour processing, then headed off without a word. North and York were the source of the only chatter in the room, talking in hushed tones as they stripped down to their undersuits, pulled on some colour-coded sweatpants over them, and then left the room in silence to head over to the mess.

Connie sighed, finally raising her head from her hands, “Well, that was…”

“Yeah. It was,” South said, turning around and leaning back against her locker, “He’s working us into the fucking ground, Connie.”

“I know,” Connie said, pressing her fists into her eyes and watching the static and lights dance, “Just… careful, there’s cameras in here.”

“I honestly could not give less of a fuck at the moment. They already treat me like shit, if they think they can do worse they can fucking come try,” South said. When Connie looked at her with a worried brow and her dark, tired eyes filled with concern, she sighed, hand splaying over her visor, “Sorry. I’m just… done, Connie. I’m trying, but it’s fucking hard to hold out fucking _hope_ when everything’s going to hell.”

“I know,” Connie repeated, looking down. So much was uncertain, and tensions were high. Not only had contact with the Insurrection been wavering, but Connie had barely seen Tex around the ship since she realised the drive she’d left in the woman’s abandoned locker had been taken a few days ago. Not to mention the fact that Wash was still bedridden in med-bay, only having woken up briefly in the nearly two weeks since Epsilon had been removed. Before having to be sedated, due to his frantic screaming. Whilst Jarrett had assured her the last time they had contact that things were in motion, it meant very little if the Director managed to drive them all to breaking point before anything came about.

She didn’t realise she’d begun to scratch at her arm through her suit until South’s hand wrapped around her wrist and stopped her. She hadn’t even notice her approach.

“Come on. Let’s get out of this armour and go get some food,” South said, letting go of her wrist to instead take her hand. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”

Connie gave her hand a squeeze, and nodded, “Okay.”

South bumped the brim of her helmet against the top of Connie’s, then stepped back. Connie watched her walk back to her locker, unclipping her helmet and gauntlets as she went, and with a deep sigh went to do the same.

But as a notification flashed on her HUD, she paused.

“ _What_?” She muttered, flicking her eyes across her HUD to bring the now active channel up. She was aware of South turning to face her, but didn’t acknowledge her, too focused on listening, “Unauthorised−? Wait, they’re− _What?!_ ”

“What? What’s happening?” South said, waving her hand when Connie didn’t reply, “Connie, babe, I can’t hear whatever the fuck you’re listening too, what’s happening?”

“I− One second,” Connie went silent again, listening to make sure she wasn’t mishearing, before cursing sharply and jerking to her feet, “South, get your armour back on.”

South grabbed her gauntlets, clipped them back into place, “Connie, what the _fuck_ is happening?”

“That− That was command’s secure emergency channel,” Connie said, tugging her locker open and grabbing her knives, and her back-up of all her data, “There’s an unauthorised docking down in the hangar, at least 5 drop ships. _Insurrectionist_ drop ships.”

“ _What?!_ ” Helmet seals snapped shut. She wrenched open her locker, grabbed her sidearm, “What the fuck are they doing here?! Did they tell you about this?!”

Connie shook her head, “No. They didn’t. I haven’t heard from them in over a week.”

“Fucking _shit_!”

“Command is still deciding how to respond, we can get down there before they even figure out who to mobilise. Come on,” Connie said, stowing her back-up in her storage compartment and setting her knives on her leg clip.

South clipped her sidearm to her leg, “I really don’t fucking like this.”

It didn’t take long to make it to the hangar. News had yet to leave Command’s secure network, there was no hint of alarm from any of the troops in the halls who parted to let them pass like any other day, nor were there any announcements on the screens dotting the walls. Command were keeping this tight to their chests, at least for now. Connie found herself unsurprised; it was hardly uncharacteristic.

When they arrived, the hangar was on lockdown. So, taking a little extra time to duck around to a maintenance entrance rather than the main hangar doors, Connie overrode the lockdown on one entrance with a code that Command would certainly rather she didn’t have. The door slid open, and together they ducked inside. Taking cover behind one of the project’s own Pelicans, they could hear the sound of bay doors opening and of voices. So late at night, with no missions coming or going, the hangar should have been empty.

Connie held a finger up to the front of her helmet, then stepped cautiously towards the end of the Pelican. Peering out, careful to keep out of sight, she cast her eyes over the five Pelican drop ships that had arrived−no PFL insignia, branded with an identification number that didn’t match the PFL registry system. When soldiers clad in basic UNSC military gear stepped out of the open bays, accompanied by familiar figures dressed in red and black, Connie ducked back. Glancing up at South, she gave a nod. It was definitely the Insurrectionists.

They stayed behind the Pelican, out of sight of the Insurrection and out of their way, on the far side of the hangar. Whilst they couldn’t see what was happening, they could hear the soldiers move up to the hangar’s main doors and start working on opening them manually. When they finally had visual, Connie diverting the camera feed from the cameras above the doors wirelessly to their HUDs, they saw Jarrett stood back with his team, watching. Whatever conversations they were having looked disturbingly casual, all things considered.

“We’re not going to be able to stop them getting through the doors,” Connie said, voice barely above a whisper.

“So what, we’re just going to let them get into the rest of the ship? Where no one fucking knows they’re coming?” South hissed, gripping her sidearm a little tighter, “I don’t see how that helps, babe.”

“We have no idea what’s even going on yet, South,” Connie said, “Not to mention we’re both tired and hungry, and for the most part unarmed. We could probably take them all at our best, but if they decide to fight us now? We won’t win, South.”

“…I hate it when you’re right.”

“No you don’t,” Connie said, elbowing her side lightly, “I say we wait for them to start to leave, and then I walk out and get Jarrett’s attention. It won’t stop all of them going, but it might stop him so we can get some answers.”

“ _Fuck_ no,” South said, helmet tilting in a way that Connie had come to recognise as a ‘seriously?’, “You are not going out there alone. I’m coming with you.”

Connie took her hand and gave it a squeeze, her voice soft, “Well, worth a shot. Alright.”

Less than a minute later, they got the doors open.

“Alright, move out! You know your orders. Do _not_ confront the agents you’re not assigned to,” Jarrett called out. He thumped Demo on the shoulder as he walked past, laughed a little when Girlie punched him in the arm before he could to the same to her. Grabbing his own weapon, he stepped to follow his team.

Looking at South and nodding, Connie stepped around the Pelican before he had the chance.

“What the hell is going on here, Jarrett?”

For just a moment she thought that her voice hadn’t carried, that he was too far across the hangar to hear her. And then in the next moment his eyes weighed heavy on her, through his visor and through hers, and she had to fight the urge to deny the eye contact.

“Connie, there you− are…” Jarrett’s voice trailed off, eyes flicking from Connie to the purple figure behind her. Noticeably tensing, he replaced his tomahawk on his back and turned to those in his team who’d paused when he had, “Go on ahead. We’ll be through shortly.”

Connie could feel their eyes on her, judging her, before they followed their leader’s order.

“Here I am? Oh sorry, you were _expecting_ me? Funny, considering I know nothing about what’s going on,” She bit back once the room was empty, folding her arms.

“What’s _she_ doing here?” Jarrett said, jabbing an accusatory finger at South.

“ _She_ has a fucking _name_ , dickhead,” South spat, stuck close to Connie’s side and shoulders squared.

“She’s been _helping_ me, ever since the scrapyard,” Connie said, trying to moderate her tone and failing. Her fingers began to tap against her palm, tap tap tap− “I was− _done_ , with lying to _everyone_. I couldn’t lie to her anymore.”

“Well then,” The tension in his body language faded. His radio crackled to life, “Girlie, change of plans, since your target’s with me, take mine.”

“ _Got it, Boss._ ”

Connie stood firm, even as her heart began to pound, “You didn’t answer my question. What’s going on, Jarrett?”

“What’s going on is exactly what you _wanted_ − we’re here to shut down the project, Connie. We had enough information from you to finally take _action_ ,” He turned his hard stare on South, “We’re here to arrest _everyone_ complicit in the actions of Project Freelancer; every agent and member of command will be apprehended, and taken in. Well−’ his attention returned to Connie ‘−except you, of course.”

Connie reared back, “ _What?_ No, that’s not− that isn’t what we agreed on. Our team didn’t _do_ _any_ thing.”

“Tell that to the UNSC. The information you gave us speaks for itself, Connie,” Jarrett said, the weight of his gaze heavy on her as he stared down at her, “No one here is innocent. You don’t get to pick and choose who faces the consequences of what they did.”

“That was our _deal_ ,” Connie spoke through gritted teeth, with clenched fists and bitterness in her voice, “The information gets to the right people, and the right people get _arrested_ − my team did _nothing_ , no one else _knew_! Most of us− we were _coerced_ into even joining!”

“You don’t get to dictate the rules, Connie. That’s not how this _works_ ,” Jarrett took a step forward, and Connie took one back. Her heart was racing, thumping hard and fast in her chest−this was because of her. Everyone was in danger, because of _her_. Fingers tapped faster against her palm, tap-tap-tap-tap−

In taking a step back, she pressed herself against South. A little of the panic went away.

That was when the alarms started to blare; flashing warnings on their HUDs finally spreading news of the unauthorised docking, telling agents to report to their stations. The Innies had broken into the main area of the ship; the final straw to make command do something.

“Bit fucking late,” South said under her breath, gripping her sidearm, “Your fucking asshole team doesn’t stand a damn chance against us, you know that right?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, _agent_ ,” Jarrett said, arm twisting behind his back. “Connie, I only have to take _her_ − not you.”

Connie gritted her teeth, stepping between him and South, “Just try it.”

He sighed, “Suit yourself.”

And then his tomahawk swung down− and went right through a hologram.

As the hologram shuddered and flickered, Connie swept his feet from under him. She was behind him before he had the chance to right himself, grabbing the second tomahawk from his back and ramming the heel of her foot _hard_ into his spine. Thrown off balance, he staggered forward, landing hard on South’s knee and toppling to the floor with the wind torn from him. Barely catching himself with his hands he groaned, pain radiating through his back, but then he was up on his feet and running at South.

South blocked his wide, open punch with ease, slamming a kick into the already tender flesh of his gut and grabbing her sidearm. When he came back at her she went to shoot, only for him to grab her arm and physically redirect the shot into the nearest Pelican. Wrenching her arm free she struck him around the face with the barrel, following it with a punch, and another, and another, chaining together hit after hit that had him backing up and stumbling. But all it took was one misplaced punch, swinging past him instead of connecting, for him to jab a fist into her armpit and send pain shooting through her gun arm.

The sidearm went clattering to the floor, sent skidding across the metal seconds later by a well-placed sweep of his foot.

His next three punches connected, her main blocking arm temporarily disabled. Grunting she backed up, giving herself enough space to slam a foot into his knee and send him tumbling−or at least that was the intention, the kick missed and barely grazed him. Momentarily confused by her own lack of coordination, three more punches connected with her helmet, her head starting to spin.

She’d forgotten about his first tomahawk until it was raised and coming for her throat, arms flying up to protect herself−

−only for the blow to never come.

Connie blocked the swing with a knife, countering every hit with sharp, deliberate punches that threatened to graze delicate unarmoured areas with the sharpened blade. When a frustrated swing came for her chest she ducked, another hologram taking the hit as she sidestepped and circled his wrist with her knife−twisting his arm she grabbed his tomahawk by the handle, sending it spiralling to the floor. He countered with a punch, one she ducked with ease only to find her head _spinning_ and−

A foot flew past her head, slamming into his gut _again_ with all of the force South could muster. Using the momentum to her advantage she chained together blow after blow, not giving him chance to raise his fists in defence and exhausting him. But her muscles _ached_ , no adrenaline rush came to fight off the fatigue that had started to plague her senses. Eventually, the chaining failed−and Jarrett got in a lucky punch to the side of her head.

With her defences down, more hits connected−strike after strike until he knocked her feet from under her, and she landed hard on the ground. He stood over her, ready to strike again−and then a tomahawk whizzed past his head, and clattered against the side of the Pelican before falling to the floor.

Jarrett looked between Connie and the tomahawk, then bent down and picked it up.

Connie swallowed hard. The weight of it had been all wrong, it wasn’t like her knives, _dammit_ she should have stuck to her _knives_ −but her head was spinning, and she could feel blood dribbling down her upper lip. If they hadn’t been training all day, if she wasn’t already so _tired_ −

Gritting her teeth, she surged forward. All she had to do was split a hologram, take the hit for South, and disarm him. Just like before. That’s _all_. She’d done this a thousand times, she was _known_ for this, this was what she _did_. Just split, just−

Jarrett swung, and Connie activated her unit.

She swore she activated her unit.

Connie stumbled, pained gasp caught in her throat as she fell to her knees. Pain blossomed across her stomach, a burning, wet feeling flowering out along every nerve and−

It didn’t work.

Blood dribbled down her lips. A shaking hand rose to her gut, felt the blood−

A cry of her name was the last thing she heard before the world went white, shock and pain and fatigue _overloading_ her senses and−

The next thing she knew, South was holding her.

“Oh thank fucking _god_ fucking− Connie, Connie? Fucking, shit, you were just− just staring, I thought−” She fell into a string of curses, and there was the sound of choked sobs in her words. Connie swallowed, tasted iron. Her vision was blurry, her senses overloaded, but she could see a red and black figure in her periphery−more red than black, now. “Connie, look at me, Connie?”

“I-I’m… okay,” That was a lie, and they both knew it; blood was pooling under her fingers where she held her wound on instinct, and she felt faint, “H-Help− help me up… we-we need… t-to get out of here…”

“You can’t _walk_ like this!”

“S-South, please. H-His Pelican.”

South made a frustrated noise, but hooked her arm under Connie’s armpit and helped her to her feet. Connie held back a pained cry, the wound in her stomach _exploding_ with burning pain and−

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ − Hold on, just− Hold on. I got you. I got you.”

She put her trust in South.

She always put her trust in South.


	2. Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter for femslash feb! After this it’ll post every other Thursday instead.

When she started to come around, the first thing she was aware of was pain.

Her muscles ached, one shoulder and hip pressing painfully into the metal floor under her own dead weight. Her joints protested when she tried to move, a groan catching in her throat and behind her teeth. Raising a hand to her head she willed her eyes to open, greeted by an unfocused blur of grey. Blinking a few times brought things into focus−chairs, harnesses, her own armour piled in the corner. The Pelican.

Eyes widening, she slowly pushed her torso up from the floor. Looking down she was greeted by the sight of bandages wrapped around her gut, an expanse of white stained with dull brown and red that covered most of her abdomen. Tentatively she touched them, running her fingers over the bumps and folds in the material. She didn’t dare think about what the wound beneath them looked like, the dull throb of pain under the haze of what she assumed were painkillers telling her all she needed to know.

Wrapping her arm around her stomach, she took a deep breath and started to push herself to her feet. She gritted her teeth through the stabbing pains that slipped through the painkiller, grabbing at the nearest harness to steady herself when it stole her breath. Breathing deeply she took a moment, and then started to follow the wall through to the cockpit.

South was sat in the pilot seat.

Hands on the controls, she kept her eyes on the unending expanse of space ahead; there was no course set in the ship’s navigation system, and nothing on the radar. They were in empty space, miles from where they’d started and miles from anywhere civilised. Or anywhere at all. She had no idea where they were going except _away_ , she barely even knew how to _fly_ this damn thing, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do about _any_ of this, and−

“S-South?”

South spun around in her seat. Connie stood in the doorway leading into the cockpit, arm wrapped around her bandaged gut and leaning her entire weight against the wall. When she realised she’d caught South’s attention, she tried to give her a reassuring smile, but instead of reassuring it looked pained. Her face had lost its colour and the smile didn’t reach her eyes, the corners crinkled with discomfort.

“Fucking, shit− Connie, don’t fucking move another inch!” South said, jabbing buttons on the control panel and jumping to her feet. When she let the controls go, they auto-adjusted themselves.

Connie didn’t resist South when she wrapped an arm around her back, looping her arm around her shoulders in return and leaning into her support. The pressure against her side was familiar and comforting, and dropping her head onto her shoulder let her head stop spinning for just a moment.

“You shouldn’t be _moving_ ,” South said, carefully bending down and hooking her arms under Connie’s knees. Connie’s teeth dug into her lip as South swept her off her feet, but once settled in her arms she felt secure. “Fucking hell Connie, and they call _me_ the fucking stubborn one!”

“T-They’re not wrong,” Connie pointed out, nuzzling against her shoulder. She smiled a little when she felt warm lips press a kiss to her forehead, nuzzling closer.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“B-But that’s what you love about me.”

“Oh− shut up, you’re injured,” South said, half-heartedly. Carefully, she carried her through to the main bay and settled her in one of the seats. She knelt next to her, cupping her face, “You’ve been out for over a _day_ , Connie. I was− I thought− god _dammit_.”

“Hey, hey, I’m okay. Ache-y, and light-headed, and… tired, but I’m okay,” Connie said, resting her hand atop South’s; her thumb rubbed soft circles on her skin. Her shaking voice betrayed her, she could see it in the way her nose wrinkled; her brow furrowed; and she did that little pout she did when frustrated. So she squeezed her hand, twisting her head to kiss the palm. “I’m okay, Tasha.”

“You have a fucking huge wound across your fucking stomach, Connie. You’re not okay. Nothing about what’s happened is fucking _okay_ ,” South bit, even as her thumb brushed softly across Connie’s cheek. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, no idea where the fuck we’re going, in a stolen fucking Pelican, with no fucking way to know what’s happened to everyone back on the cocking ship. Nothing is _okay_.”

Her hand dropped from her cheek, and she sighed.

“You need to eat. I’m gonna make up one of the MREs from this thing, just… sit and rest.”

“Take me to the cockpit, fir-first,” Connie said, suppressing a groan as she pushed herself to sit straight. When South gave her a look, brow raised and the ‘why the fuck would I do that?’ radiating from her, she continued, “Y-You said it yourself, this ship is stolen. I n-need to remove their tracking and information from its systems, unless we want someone coming after us.”

South pulled that face again−nose crinkled, brow furrowed−but seemed to resign herself to it, crouching down and coaxing her into her arms. Lifting her carefully, bridal style as she had before, she carried her through to the cockpit and got her settled in the co-pilot’s seat. She left her there with a kiss to her forehead, and Connie heard the tearing of a package back in the main bay. With a quiet sigh, she set about removing all traces of the ship’s previous owners from its systems.

It took longer than she expected. She was only half way done removing the tracking information when South decided to just give her the MRE−beef stew, she thought−to eat whilst she worked. She’d finished eating by the time she completed the tracker’s removal, and the process of removing the rest of the information imbedded in the systems took a further half hour. By the time it was all said and done, her eyes felt heavy, and the painkillers were wearing off.

“Come on, down you come,” South said, hooking her arm under her knees and around her back. Connie latched onto her, burying her head against her shoulder with a quiet yawn. “I’m checking your wound, then you’re having your painkillers and going the fuck to sleep again, okay?”

“Okay,” Connie mumbled. “The floor’s not very comfortable, though.”

“Ship was only kitted up for an in and out,” South said, settling her back in one of the seats. “It’s a miracle we even have food. Believe me if there was a way _not_ to have to sleep on the fucking metal floor, you’d have woken up on that. It’s the chairs or the floor, your call.”

Connie sighed, “I’ll take my chances with the floor. I don’t think rolling off the chairs in my sleep would do me much good.”

South almost chuckled, leaning up to kiss her, “And you roll around a fucking _lot_.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Connie said, leaning into the kiss in turn. The kiss broke when leaning a little too far made Connie gasp in pain, prompting South to turn and grab the med-kit.

Connie tilted her head back and looked away as South gave her the pain medication, and didn’t look back when she started to unwrap the bandages. Her fingers tapped against her palm, tap-tap-tap, rhythmic and distracting.

“…What do we do now?”

South’s hands never stopped moving, cleaning away the dried blood from her stomach and starting to wrap new bandages around her, but her voice was uncharacteristically quiet and uncertain.

“We have no idea where the fuck we are, where we’re going, what’s fucking _happening_ − what do we _do_?”

Connie considered her words before responding, “We− We wait. And we keep moving, try and find a planet or a station. That’s all we can do.”

“Great, just great. What a plan,” South said, perhaps louder than she intended.

And so that’s what they did. Over the next week or so, they started heading back towards civilised space with little more than the goal of finding _somewhere_ in mind. With only empty space around them, and the ship lacking the artificial day/night cycle of the _Mother of Invention_ , keeping track of time became difficult. Sleeping meant nothing, with Connie spending much of her time asleep from the sheer exhaustion caused by so much blood loss and the drugs, whilst South barely slept at all. Between flying the ship and keeping on top of Connie’s wound, she refused to let herself sleep more than a few hours, no matter how much Connie insisted she just set the auto-pilot and get some rest.

By about the fourth day, the atmosphere was noticeably tense.

There was barely a word said when Connie was awake, little more than South asking how bad her pain was and telling her which ways to move to help with dressing her wound, and when she was asleep there was nothing but silence. It was starting to get to Connie, her usually fluctuating empathy now absorbing the negative atmosphere like a sponge. When, a week in and after a day of almost total silence, she heard South cursing at the radio, it all came to a head.

“I’m sorry.”

The cursing stopped. Connie cast her eyes to the floor, running her fingers along the creases in her bandages as heavy footsteps came through to the bay. She felt the weight of eyes on her.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

Those same heavy footsteps crossed the bay, and South knelt down in front of her.

“Why? Why are you saying you’re _sorry_ , Connie?”

Connie scrunched up her face, fighting the traitorous tears that welled in her eyes, “B-Because this is all my _fault_ , I− I _started_ all this, _I_ brought the _fucking_ UNSC to the project, _I_ trusted Jarrett, _I_ put everyone in danger! An-And now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no idea if anyone else is even _alive_ , and− and−”

She burst into sobs, cursing under her breath and trying to wipe the tears away. She didn’t _cry_ , why was she _crying_?

“Shit, Connie− Fuck,” South turned her head back to her, kissing her forehead and brushing her hair from her face. “No no no, fuck− That’s not− Oh come here.”

Holding her arms open, she coaxed Connie closer and gathered her up into her lap. Connie wrapped her legs around her hips, and hooked her arms under her armpits up around her shoulders. She muttered curses against South’s shoulder, lifting her head to wipe tears away with the heels of her hands.

“Y-You have every right to be annoyed at me, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not _annoyed_ Connie! Well− I am, but… fuck, not at _you_ ,” South said, arm wrapped around Connie’s waist and a hand hooked around her head. She brushed her fingers through her hair, tilted her head back so she could see her. Connie averted her eyes. “I’m annoyed at this fucking bullshit situation, Connie, and− fuck, because I can’t fucking _help_ you. You’re injured and I’m just− ugh, _fuck_.”

She buried her face in Connie’s shoulder, cursing creatively under her breath.

For a few moments there was relative silence, little noise besides Connie’s slowly fading sobs and South’s muffled cursing, until they too stopped. A beat of nothing, and then−

“God we’re a fucking mess,” South said, lifting her head and rubbing her eye. Connie sniffled, wiping away the last of her own tears with an almost amused smile on her face. “I love you, Connie, y’know that? I’m not angry with you. I’m just… angry.”

Connie swallowed hard, but nodded, “I-I love you too. I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me I−”

South cut her off with a kiss, shushing her softly.

“Nope, shush your face. Sometimes you just absorb bad shit, Connie−remember that one mission? You had one of your fucking, um, meltdown things because the fucking atmosphere in the bay was just _so shit_ ,” South said, waving her hand vaguely as she explained. “I thought not speaking would, I don’t know, stop me from being a snappy shit by accident but− yeah. Didn’t think that through.”

Connie’s smile returned, a little more genuine this time, “You don’t think a lot of things through.”

“Hey, don’t make me regret being sappy with you, you little shit,” South said through a grin, prodding Connie’s nose. Connie giggled under her breath, shoving her hand half-heartedly. When South used it as an excuse to link their fingers together, she didn’t protest. “Y’know you’d think we’ve have figured out this communication bullshit after that whole mess after the scrapyard.”

“You’d think,” Connie agreed, still smiling. “We’ll figure it out one day.”

“Mm,” South squeezed Connie’s hand, then let go; instead her hands settled on Connie’s hips. “Will having something to work on help keep your mind off shit? I know it used to. Always up working, keeping your hands busy and all that shit.”

Connie raised a brow, “What’s this? Natasha, Agent South Dakota herself, asking me if I want to _work_ instead of fussing over me even standing up?”

“Oh shut up,” She pecked her quickly on the lips. “I mean it. Because well, we’re pulling up on a colony. With a refuelling station. And y’know, since we’re fugitives in a stolen fucking ship, we _kinda_ need fake permits and IDs. Sounds right up a certain someone’s alley.”

“I think I can whip a couple of fake IDs and a fake docking permit up,” Connie said, twirling a strand of South’s hair around her finger. “Gonna be difficult just using the ship’s on-board computer system, but it shouldn’t take _too_ long.”

“Couple days?”

Connie nodded her head from side to side, “Try 12 hours.”

“So _cocky_ ,” South teased, grin back on her face and a laugh on her breath, kissing her properly. Connie laughed into the kiss, tickling South’s lips. “You’re on.”

As it turns out, Connie was right to be cocky. Approximately twelve hours after she got started, Connie had introduced new identification information to the Pelican’s systems; created fake IDs for herself and South; and made a docking permit to match. She proudly announced that she was done, and South jokingly announced that she was a minute over time. So Connie ‘bribed the judge’ with a kiss, and she let it pass.

With the necessary documentation ready, they settled down to figure out what they needed. The colony they were approaching had a refuelling station, but that station was within a city. Fuel was far from the only thing they needed, though it was one of the most important; food, clothing, tech, medical supplies, _bedding_ , were all things that they needed. Whilst Connie was confident she could find a way into one of their bank accounts without alerting anyone to their whereabouts, they didn’t exactly have much money in the first place. Stocking up could be easier said than done.

And then there was the issue of their armour, or more specifically, the fact that they had nothing else to leave the ship in.

“Look, I don’t think some poor, underpaid refuelling station workers are going to give enough of a shit about the weird armour to actually say anything,” South said, sat against the wall. Connie sat on her lap, back pressed to her chest and head flopped against her shoulder. Without their undersuits on, they were in nothing but their underwear. “We’ll see if they have anything to fix your suit, get some civvies, and be out with some supplies as soon as they finish refuelling this thing. It’ll be _fine_. Or do you not have faith in your fake IDs?”

“I _do_ , but we have to consider the possibility of trouble,” Connie said, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “Especially with the fact I’m still injured.”

South’s hand brushed against the bandages, and Connie felt her sigh.

“Yeah, I know. You’re still sleeping half the fucking day it feels like, god I wish I’d been able to give you fucking blood but− anyway, point is, we’ll be _fine_ ,” She said, letting her hand fall to trace patterns just above the waistband of Connie’s underwear. “When we enter orbit tomorrow, your permit and IDs get us in, we get what we need, and we get out. Simple.”

“In theory.”

“ _Babe_.”

Connie rolled her eyes, smiling up at her, “Okay okay, _simple_.”

The next day, they entered the colony’s airspace. With South in the pilot seat they were first contacted by the colony’s main control, asking for their identification; desired docking site; and permit code. South rattled them off, with an ease that didn’t let on that she’d only _sort of_ memorised them the night before and interspersed with apparently accurate lingo that made Connie think of Niner. A brief pause, and then:

“ _Alright, you’re cleared for docking at the City Hub Docking Station. Your permits will be checked again once you land.”_

“Understood.”

When the radio cut off, Connie raised a brow at South.

“What?” South said, chuckling under her breath. “I picked up a few things so I could accurately take the piss out of Niner’s pilot voice. I don’t half-ass my impressions, babe.”

When they pulled up to the docking station, South held her hands up from the controls as they started to work themselves−auto-docking, almost a relief. They felt the ship set down not long after, locking into place. South pressed a few buttons, got their permit ready for scanning and opening the bay door. Footsteps echoed from the bay, light and unarmoured, and both agents turned to greet the UNSC-colour clad workers that approached the cockpit.

The slightly suspicious looks that they received as one of them checked their permits didn’t go unnoticed.

“Alright, you’re all clear,” One of the workers said, standing back. “What do you need?”

“Refuelling, long-haul,” South said, standing up. She didn’t do much to hide the smirk on her face when she saw them reel back at the realisation she had at least a good half a foot on them. “Some civvies to go into the city would be useful, too.”

“Jenkins, take them to get some clothes. Y’need medical attention too?” The worker said, gesturing at Connie’s bandages. Connie shook her head

“No, but if you have the facilities to repair kevlar that’d be useful,” She said. “You are a military dock, right?”

The worker sighed, but nodded, “Yeah yeah, we’ll fix up your armour. Go with Jenkins.”

Jenkins gestured vaguely for them to come with her. South presented her back to Connie, letting her climb on from her perch in the co-pilot’s seat, and started to follow.

They were lead through the station, past a couple of other docked ships and into the rest of the facility. It wasn’t far to the public locker room, there for those making a stop in the station, and where Jenkins gestured to a storage box filled with various civilian clothes.

“Take whatever you need, it’s organised by size. Leave your armour in two of the lockers, we’ll handle it from there.”

“Thank you,” Connie said, whilst South began to strip off her armour behind her. Jenkins just shrugged, making a vague comment about going back to her post, and then left.

Changing didn’t take long. Armour was stripped with practiced ease, and neither was fussy about what clothes they wore. There wasn’t time to waste, they could be pickier later. For now they simply grabbed whatever was in their sizes; a pair of jeans, a t-shirt or a hoodie, a pair of shoes. Connie was adventurous, adding a jacket. And then, with clothes out of the way, Connie clambered back onto South’s back and they left.

Their first stop was one of the terminals, still inside the station, where Connie was able to acquire them some credits. As suspected, there wasn’t a huge amount at their disposal, but it would be enough to get some necessities. Hopefully.

The city was bustling. Connie clung tight to South’s back as they walked through the busy streets−only hopping down when they had to use public transportation or inside certain stores−more at South’s insistence than her own. She would point things out over South’s shoulders and head, going to far as to physically turn South’s head when she didn’t seem to hear her calling out the tech store.

It was the closest they’d gotten to shore leave in at least two years.

“Okay, so we have−” South paused to swallow, gesturing at their bags under their table, “−clothes, a cheap-ass PC that is almost certainly gonna fucking break in a month, a data-pad, some fucking pillows and blankets, and other miscellaneous crap like hygiene products and all that bull.”

Connie nodded, swallowing a mouthful of her own, “Yep. All we need now are MREs and medical supplies.”

“Which we should be able to get from the station,” South said, taking the final bite of her meal.

“Ex _actly_ ,” Connie said, giggling quietly and brushing something off South’s face. “Real food worth wasting some credits?”

“Oh _definitely_.”

“You wanna go pay whilst I finish eating?” Connie said, gesturing to her mostly but not quite finished plate of food. “Should be done by the time you are.”

“Sure,” South said, standing up. She leant over and gave Connie a quick kiss on the forehead, then ruffling her hair she turned and headed to pay.

There was a short queue, and as she waited her eyes wandered to the screen on the wall that was playing the news. It was just the Grifball scores, at first glance, so South was watching with only mild interest until something scrolling across the bottom caught her eye.

_…INVESTIGATION INTO ACTIONS OF UNSC FUNDED DISASTER PROJECT FREELANCER CONTINUES…_

South’s eyes widened, but before she could read any more, the server coughed to get her attention. Cursing under her breath she apologised, paying quickly. When she looked back up, the scrolling bar had disappeared whilst they played a clip from another news story about the war.

When she got back to the table, Connie frowned.

“You okay?”

“I think we need to leave as soon as fucking possible,” South said, grabbing the bags and turning to let Connie onto her back. Connie’s frown deepened, but she clambered on. South lowered her voice, “There was something, on the news, about fucking _freelancer_. About an _investigation_ − I didn’t catch the details because I looked away for one second and the next it was fucking gone, but− those workers already looked suspicious, Connie.”

“No, no you’re right,” Connie said, clinging on tight. South walked them out of the restaurant, back towards the docking station. “We haven’t travelled that far, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised but− shit.”

Nerves hung heavy in the air around them as they walked back. Connie’s knees dug sharply into South’s sides, and her grip around her shoulders was maybe a little too tight. Neither really said a word, both of their minds brought back to something that they’d almost been able to ignore, just for today. By the time they arrived back at the station, both were noticeably tense.

Jenkins eyed their bags as she checked out their armour, “Kevlar’s repaired. Aykroyd even did some basic maintenance, best he could; don’t deal with this grade of armour a lot.”

“Thanks,” Connie said, collecting her armour and stowing it in one of the heavy-duty gym bags they’d bought just for this purpose. “Do you guys have MREs and fresh medical supplies available? I’m afraid our superiors really didn’t kit us out very well.”

“Sure. I’ll go knock you up a bag,” Jenkins said, turning and leaving the locker room.

“They definitely know something’s up,” South said, voice low. Swinging the heavy armour-filled bags over her shoulder, she held her hand out for some of the others. “We need to get out of here.”

“I know,” Connie said, passing some over but keeping hold of a couple herself. “Go back to the ship, I’ll get the MREs and medical supplies. Go.”

South pulled that face, but did as Connie said. Jenkins reappeared a minute or so after she left, handing over a bag filled with a good month’s worth of rations for two people−more if they didn’t eat everything included in a day−and a smaller bag of medical supplies.

“Thanks,” Connie said, taking it. She didn’t like how sharp Jenkins’ eyes were on her, she could feel them trying to figure her out. “You’ve been a great help.”

“What’s your bosses doing sending you out on a long-haul so unprepared?” Jenkins asked, her head tilted curiously. She followed Connie as she headed back towards the docking bay, arms folded. “Organisation in the wider army getting that bad, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Connie said, upholding that same poker-face she’d used for months aboard the _Mother_. It wasn’t the first time she’d lied to someone’s face, and Jenkins wasn’t anywhere near as intimidating as the Counselor could be. “Changed our assignment on us last minute.”

“Bummer.”

“Yep.”

They arrived at the back of the Pelican, the rear bay open as South set all of the bags she’d been carrying down, under the supervision of the first worker. Connie walked up into the bay with Jenkins only stopping at the threshold, placing down the bags she held mostly out of sight of the worker and sharing a look with South.

“She’s refuelled for an extended time interrupted travel, and you’ve got some emergency reserves too. We did a quick check of her workings, nothing needed there. You’re all set to leave as soon as you’re ready,” The worker said, stood hand on his hip and gesturing vaguely.

“Paek, come on, boss wants you,” Jenkins said, waving him over. Paek glanced at South and Connie once more, but then turned and walked out of the Pelican.

South walked up to the cockpit and shut the bay doors as soon as he was gone.

“We’re leaving, _now_ ,” She said, sitting in the pilot’s seat and flicking switches and buttons. “Sit down Connie.”

“I don’t think they have any solid idea what’s up,” Connie said, sitting in the back and pulling down a harness for good measure. “But they know there’s something.”

“Yeah and they’re probably going to call the UNSC about the weird fucking soldiers in power armour,” South said, starting up the engines and getting them airborne as quickly as possible. Not the smoothest take-off, but it was only her second time really trying and it did the job so she was inclined to call it a success anyway.

“Did you really see nothing else from that news report?”

“No, Connie, I only saw what I told you.” She gripped the controls a little tighter, “Something about an investigation into the project, into its ‘actions’. Called it a UNSC funded fucking _disaster_. I mean, it’s not _wrong_ but−”

“It implies something else happened back on the ship,” Connie said, nails scratching against the metal of the harness.

South sighed, “…Yeah, yeah pretty much.”

There was a brief pause, an awkward silence like there hadn’t been in days, and then:

“When we’re away, I’ll start investigating. Look at the news, and see if I can get into some of the UNSC’s files, or at least the Project’s. I’ve done harder.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Things just got complicated again, didn’t they?”

South snorted, “Babe, when have things _not_ been complicated?”

“Fair point.”


	3. Progression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll have it known that the start of this chapter wasn’t actually planned to be this gay? But Connie just sort of took over and decided it was gonna be.

_Agent Carolina: MIA. Agent Connecticut: MIA._

_Agent Florida: AWOL. Agent Maine: MIA._

_Agent New York: AWOL. Agent North Dakota: AWOL._

_Agent South Dakota: MIA. Agent Texas: UNKNOWN._

_Agent Washington: MIA. Agent Wyoming: AWOL._

Connie sighed softly, casting her eyes over the list once more before leaving the UNSC server and closing the lid of the PC. South glanced up at her, eyebrow raised as she let Connie’s shirt drop to cover her stomach again; a flash of white bandaging, minimal now, quickly hidden beneath the material.

“You looking again?” South asked, kneeling up and stretching her arms above her head. Connie forgot to respond for a moment as she watched the muscles in South’s shoulders, snapping herself out of it with a shake of her head.

“It’s… hard not to,” She replied, shrugging sheepishly. South cracked a grin. “What?”

“Are you talking about the database or me there, babe?”

Heat flooded Connie’s face, flushing her cheeks, and she playfully smacked at South’s shoulder, “Oh you− shut up! I mean, it’s been a while but− the _database_.”

“Sure babe, keep telling yourself that,” South said, grin still plastered on her face. She planted her hands either side of Connie’s legs, leaning close enough for their noses to bump. “As soon as your injury’s healed enough, y’know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna have you against this ship’s wall and−”

She trailed off to a whisper, leaning close to Connie’s ear so her breath tickled her skin and made her shiver a little. Even better, it made Connie’s face flush hotter, her cheeks darkening. It wasn’t even that she was _shy_ , no, Connie had never been shy about these things−but she was right, it _had_ been a while.

“Okay so telling me all that whilst I’m still injured is like, a cruel and unusual form of torture and I don’t know if I want to kiss that grin off your face or drop a blanket over it,” Connie said when she pulled away, voice remarkably steady for someone as obviously flustered as she was.

“Well I’d rather have the _kiss_ , but…” A blanket dropped over her head. South froze. “…Okay, I brought that on myself.”

Connie giggled as South pulled the blanket off, catching it when South tossed it back at her in retaliation and throwing it back over to the pile of bedding in the adjacent corner of the bay. South stole a quick kiss on her way to stand up, sealing the med-kit and putting it away.

A month after the fight, and a month after they’d left the _Mother of Invention_ , Connie’s wound was healing well. Well, as far as South could tell anyway. There was no sign of infection, and it was following Connie’s typical scarring pattern so well it was already blending in with the map of other scars that decorated her light brown skin. Keeping some bandaging on it was mostly a precaution now, stopping her from knocking it too easily. She was healing. Physically, at least.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed that sometimes she’d have trouble sleeping, and that ever since she’d found her way into the UNSC’s official files on the Project Freelancer investigation, she’d barely left it alone.

South understood. Besides, she knew Connie could see the bags under _her_ eyes too, the way she’d act detached, unconcerned, but still ask after everything Connie was looking up. It was just easier not to confront it, for now.

“So, tomorrow we’re going planetside?” South asked, stretching out again and beaming almost proudly at the way Connie couldn’t keep her eyes off her. “My face is up here babe.”

A pillow barely missed her face.

“Yes, we are. I’ve set us up with enough identification to get us past the checks when entering atmosphere, and then we can land somewhere non-military,” Connie said, shuffling forward and standing up. “With news around the project as active as it is right now, we can’t really risk a legitimate docking.”

“Fucking project, still causing us hassle when it’s fucking gone,” South said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. Walking across the bay she grabbed an MRE from their stores; they were a little over two thirds through those they’d been given. “Question: how the fuck are we gonna buy shit? We have like, no fucking money left.”

“This colony is known for its array of markets, especially in the outer regions. Cheaper than stores, and often with some things that are− well, _harder_ , to find in stores,” Connie said, tapping the lid of the PC. “We might even be able to find some proper MREs without going through any military channels. I know those used to pop up back home.”

“Oh goodie, more pre-packaged, processed crap,” South said, “I almost miss the MOI’s mess. No, not even almost, I _do_. At this point, I even miss the fucking beds!”

Connie’s arms wrapped around South’s waist from behind, and South felt her smile against her back.

“Nothing like sleeping on a cold metal floor to make you appreciate terrible, creaking beds that felt like sleeping on a bunch of bricks, hey?” She said, nuzzling into her back.

“No fucking kidding.” South snorted a laugh, “God, we sound like fucking _Wash_.”

“He sure did like to complain about those beds,” Connie said, running her fingers back and forth along the hem of South’s shirt. “He came from active service to us, I always wanted to ask him how anything he slept on out in the field there could be better than the beds on the _Mother_. Guess he just wanted to feel normal.”

Silence fell over them, and that’s where that conversation ended.

It was mid-afternoon where they landed on the colony the next day, though when they walked off their ship they had barely been awake for a couple of hours. They’d landed a little way away from the city, not too far to walk but enough to keep them mostly out of sight and−in theory, at least−out of mind.

Dressed in civvies, but with concealed weapons tucked into waistbands or boots, they headed into the city. Connie took her usual position on South’s back, despite her insistence that she could handle walking now; her wound was healing well, yes, but that was exactly why South refused to take any chances. It wasn’t like Connie was _complaining_ , exactly, but, well, it was the principle of the thing!

“Pouting isn’t going to get me to put you down.”

“You can’t even see my face!”

“I don’t _need_ to, I know when you’re fucking pouting,” South said, tickling lightly under Connie’s knees. Connie squeaked, flailing her legs and clinging on tighter. Her muffled giggles tickled the back of South’s neck. “The _real_ question is, why are you pouting if you don’t think I can _tell_ you’re pouting? Huh?”

“Smartass,” Connie mumbled, words muffled where her face pressed into South’s skin.

“I love you too babe,” South said. She chuckled when Connie leant around to press a kiss to her cheek, retaliating by knocking the sides of their heads together. And then promptly groaning when it hurt. “ _Ow_.”

Connie was laughing, even as she rubbed her now throbbing head, “We’re not wearing helmets, Tasha!”

“That stung like a _bitch_ , holy shit.”

“I am _not_ kissing that better; that was all your own fault.”

There was a different atmosphere here than at the last city; it was busier, more chaotic, and there was more energy in the air as they walked around the rows and rows of stalls. This wasn’t the colony’s capital; there was no active military facility; there was no attempt to uphold an air of organisation or control. No pretence. Just people surviving, when for the most part the UNSC had left them in the lurch. When you couldn’t count on the government to keep you alive, to make sure you were all fed and would even live to see the war out, you counted on yourself and your community. Connie knew that situation well.

Voices surrounded them constantly, chatter between friends; haggling between owners and customers; sellers calling out deals. South checked on Connie every now and again, asked if the noise was too much, but Connie assured her it was fine. Part of her was still used to this sort of noise, and besides, South was with her. She was content to ride on her back, pointing out stalls where they might find something and individual items they needed from over her shoulder. She also seemed to just _know_ when someone was trying to cut them a bad deal, and the right kinds of things to say to get them what they needed at a price they could afford.

“I learned the scripts pretty well back home,” Connie said as they walked down another aisle of stalls, keeping her eye out for anything they might need. “When the UNSC pulled out of the outer districts, our city went from well-off to, well, somewhere like this. My moms and I went from being able to afford to send me to private school and saving to send me off-world to a better university, to barely getting by. So I memorised the scripts that got us the best deals when the markets started appearing.”

“See, Nikolai was always the people person,” South said. It was weird how her brother’s real name felt wrong on her tongue, after years of being discouraged from using it. “By which I mean he fucking sweet-talked anyone we dealt with, and _I_ was the kid who grabbed shit from the stall whilst _he_ had them distracted.”

Connie mock-gasped, “I can’t believe I’m dating a _criminal_.”

“Oh yeah keep talking little miss ‘violated every secrecy act the UNSC has ever written’,” South said, grinning. Connie pointed out another stall, and South took them over. “I’m sure it’s a _real_ stain on your conscience.”

Connie went to retort, when a commotion erupted a few stalls down. People scrambled backwards, a clear circle forming around a young man who was pointing a gun at the owner of a stall. From where they stood it was hard to see exactly what was happening, but what they could see was the kid’s finger on the trigger and the alarmed faces of the onlookers.

Without a word, South put Connie down.

“I’m not _asking_! Give me the fucking goods, or get a bullet in your head! Your choice!” The man said, shaking the gun at the stall owner. No one in the crowd dared to move, the circle around him unbroken; so when there was movement, his gun’s target immediately changed. “Back off!”

“Okay kid, you have exactly ten seconds to put that gun down and back off _yourself_ ,” South said, stepping out from the circle. She didn’t raise her hands, one rested on her hip.

“Why would I do that?”

South shrugged, “D’you wanna find out? 10, 9, 8−”

He didn’t drop the gun. South saw the twitch of his trigger finger, and in one smooth motion she grabbed him by the wrist and directed the shot into the ground beneath them. When he tried to fight back she tugged harder, swinging him over and throwing him down onto his back _hard_.

“Really shouldn’t have done that, kid.”

Shocked gasps and murmurs swept across the crowd at the same time as it began to dissipate, the immediate threat and the immediate intrigue gone. South dragged the young man up to his knees, arm twisted up behind his back, and passed Connie the gun when she approached. She kept him restrained as Connie checked on the stall owner, asking her if it was worth calling the police around here, and then stood by as the owner made the call. When she looked over at South, tilting her head, South’s response was just dramatically rolling her eyes. Connie muffled a laugh.

It didn’t take long for the police to show up and deal with the situation, apparently familiar with plenty of the stall owners and very much on their side. With the problem solved, South and Connie headed back to the stall they were looking at in the first place, hoping to get what they needed and get out of there before any more attention could be drawn to them.

But when they prepared to move on−South crouched down to let Connie back onto her back−they were approached by someone.

South cocked a brow, standing up and shifting Connie up her back, “Uh, hey. What’re you−?”

“Do you want a job?”

“…What?”

 

“So, let me get this straight,” South said, arms folded under her chest and leaning against a wall, “ _You_ , want to pay _us_ , to deal with some gang?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” The person, apparently called Samir, said with a shrug. “They’ve been bothering the markets for a _while_ , but the police are understaffed and don’t want to deal with the source of the problem. Just individual cases, like that kid. But the second they get out of prison, they’re back at it again! The markets can handle petty theft−everyone’s gotta get by, y’know?−but they steal _everything_ , hundreds upon hundreds of credits worth of things.”

“How many of these people are there?” Connie asked from her perch atop a supply crate, bag at her feet.

“About twenty, but they’re some of the only citizens around here who are armed, so no one can ever do anything about them,” Samir said. He gestured vaguely at South, “Last time sometime tried before you, they got _shot_ and _died_. People are too scared to try now.”

Connie’s face turned thoughtful, and she glanced at South, “Tasha?”

“I mean, money would be fucking _great_ right about now. And twenty people isn’t even a fucking challenge,” South said, shrugging. “So sure, we’ll do it.”

“ _Awesome_ , thank you so much,” Samir said, heaving a relieved sigh. “Those of us who can are pitching in together to pay you, as soon as they are dealt with. Thank you _so_ much.”

“Where exactly does this gang hang out? Is there a specific place?” Connie asked, digging the data-pad out of their bag. She brought up her information on the area, scanning through.

“Yeah, a warehouse. They use it as a hangout, always going in and out. We _think_ they store everything they steal in there before selling, but we do _not_ know that for certain,” Samir said, walking over and peering at the screen. “Sector 57, not far from the central marketplace. Used to be UNSC, I think. Probably where they got all their gear.”

“They do have a tendency to not clean up after themselves,” Connie sighed, pulling up information on the old warehouse with a few taps. “This the place?”

Samir nodded, “That’s it.”

“Old UNSC storage facility… three levels… should have an old security network… fair amount of open spaces…” Connie said, mostly to herself. South leaned over a little, peering down at the screen. “If I can connect to the network, I can keep an eye on you from the outside.”

“What, no trying to get me to let you join in?” South said, brow raised.

“Just because I don’t think I need to be carried everywhere doesn’t mean I think I can fight,” Connie said, giving her a look to match. “I’ll run recon from nearby. You clear the place out.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“We just need to make a quick trip back to our ship to get some gear, then we can set things in motion, okay Samir?” Connie hopped down from the crate, slipping the data-pad back into the bag. “Meet you by Market Central?”

Samir nodded, and they went their separate ways.

“You know, this _could_ get us into trouble,” Connie said on the way back to the ship, chin digging into the top of South’s head. “I’m not sure vigilante work is strictly legal.”

“You heard what Samir said, the police probably won’t give a shit. We’re dealing with their fucking problem _for_ them. And I haven’t heard a single whisper about the project since getting here,” South said, hoisting her up a little further. “I think we’re good.”

“I hope so.”

Within the hour, they were back in the city. Samir lead them to the district where the warehouse stood, an old industrial district, shut-down as money was directed into other areas of the colony. The UNSC logo was faded on the side of the facility, graffiti boldly sprayed over and around it. In only ten minutes of observing the location the two ex-agents saw multiple signs of movement, and at least three people enter through the front.

“Okay, I’ve managed to get into their network. The old security system is still up and running, so I have visuals of every room in the warehouse,” Connie was sat cross-legged in a nearby building, also abandoned, with the PC set up in front of her. Flicking through the cameras, she counted under her breath. “There’s about twenty one people in there right now. Fairly spread out.”

“ _Got it. What’s my way in?_ ”

Connie pulled up the cameras from the rear of the building, by the old loading bay. There were only a few people in the bay itself, lightly armed and surrounded mostly by boxes. Outside there was no one but South, still dressed in civvies but with a scarf around the lower half of her face and readily armed. Her best bet was the old staff entrance, to the side of the loading bay hatches.

“Staff door, off to your left. It’s connected to the system so I can unlock it for you. There’s four people in the bay, but none of them are facing that entrance. You can probably disable them without much fuss, then move on.”

“ _Got it._ ”

 

The door slid open without a sound. Moving quickly but quietly, South crossed over to cover−a stack of boxes, tall enough to crouch behind−and peered out at the bay’s four inhabitants. Two guns, leant against boxes and not in their owner’s hands. One of them was playing with a knife (“ _They have no idea what they’re doing with that thing, but still, be careful._ ”) and the other was entirely unarmed. All of them looked young, no older than their early twenties.

Taking them down was effortless. One knock-out blow to the temple; one dislocated knee and dizzying hit to the head; and two brief fights that ended with the thieves on the ground, faces pressed into the concrete. The knife-wielder nearly got in a quick swipe, but it was almost too easy to turn their knife back on them and turn the fight. Once they were dealt with, it was only a matter of restraining them and preparing to move on.

“ _Okay, the hallways are empty for the most part, but be careful of people moving about. The next room with people in is at the end of the hall−everything before that looks to be storage, or makeshift sleeping quarters._ ”

“How many?” South asked as she stepped through into the hall.

“ _Just three, unarmed. But there’s only the one way in._ ”

“Eh, not a problem.”

Stepping into the room and kicking the door shut with a bang, all eyes turned to her.

“Okay kids, back the fuck down and you don’t have to face the same fate as your buddies back in the loading bay,” She said, jabbing a thumb back over her shoulder. Even when they all stood up, she had to look down. She smirked at that. “Or you can offer yourselves up to get your fucking asses kicked, that’s an option too.”

They went for the second option.

One of them went straight for a punch, wide and open and so easy to block with the back of her arm, leaving their face wide open for South to slam the heel of her palm into their nose. Cursing in pain and blood flowing from their nose they stumbled back into their friend, and a well-placed kick to their gut threw _both_ of them hard into the wall. Two down.

When South turned to the third, they were stood on the table.

“Fucking… _really_?”

She slammed her foot into the table leg and the table collapsed forward, sending them toppling−grabbing them by their shirt she slammed her knee into their gut. Twisting their arm behind their back−dislocating their shoulder, if their yelp was anything to go by−she slammed a kick into their spine and threw them into the others. Right as they were about to get up.

“ _They have absolutely no fight training, do they?_ ”

“Fuck no they don’t. Think they don’t need it, probably. They got guns, no one else around here does,” South replied as she tied them up. “Okay, next?”

“ _This floor is clear now besides a couple guarding the staircase. Well, if sitting drinking counts as guarding. No real cover, so you’re going to be seen, and they are armed. Just take them out before they can raise the alarm._ ”

South exited the room, started navigating the halls of the way to the stairs, “Am I allowed to use lethal force or not?”

“ _Well− if you have to. But_ only _if you have to._ ”

Surprising them was easier than anticipated. Distracted by whatever they were drinking, and what sounded like shit-talking some of the other members of the gang, South interrupted them by banging their heads together. Dizzy, but unwilling to go down, one of them grabbed for her gun−and South promptly broke her wrist and back-fisted her into the guardrail.

A quick jump over them where they now lay sprawled on the stairs, and she was on her way up.

“Nine down, twelve to go.”

Two more went down in the first hallway upstairs, one with a flying kick knocking them to the ground and the other with a chop to the throat. South then turned into the main warehouse floor (“ _Seven of the remaining ten are in here, be_ careful.”) where she pulled out her handgun, ducking into cover behind a row of shelves. One went down in the first aisle, grabbed with an arm around their neck until they passed out. Another hit the floor with a sharp smack of the gun-grip to the back of the head. Connie was mercifully patient, not pushing her to report in when she lost visual and only speaking up when she had to. Stealth wasn’t so bad when you could focus.

Still, it was a nice change of pace when the rest of them came at her at once.

Clumsy as they were, five on one did give them a bit of staying power. But only a bit. Chaining together hits was all too easy; one of them was sent flying into the nearest row of shelving with enough force to send everything on it clattering to the floor; another went to shoot her, but ended up getting his friend in the arm. Within minutes, three of them were unconscious and two of them were immobilised by injuries.

“They almost put up a fight,” South said, nabbing the guns they had on them. “Looks like they do have most of the stolen shit in here, going by all the shit on the shelves. Couple crates are weapons, not all of it.”

“ _Looks like it. Samir was right._ ”

“So, three left?”

“ _Three left. All up on the last floor. Armed, too; looks like a couple of handguns and an SMG. Might be best not to engage, just shoot._ ”

“I’m cleared for lethal?”

“ _Tasha, I’m not the Director. You do whatever you think is best._ ”

Ten minutes later, the leader of the gang was dead and the two remaining members were incapacitated.

“ _Alright Tasha, get out of there. I’ve dropped an anonymous tip to the police, their work’s been done for them so hopefully they’ll just come take them._ ”

“Copy that. Thanks for being my eyes and ears, babe,” South said, running out of the room. If she grabbed the SMG on the way out, it was just a precaution. Obviously.

 

Within the next half hour, the Police had begun to clean up the site. South collected Connie from her hideaway, carrying her back to Market Central where Connie had organised for Samir to meet them. When they arrived, he was stood watching the clean-up.

“Thank you both, so much. Hopefully that is the end of them,” Samir said, sighing in relief. “You have helped us a lot, now I will pay you.”

Connie facilitated the transfer of credits−more than they’d expected, upon taking the job−before they went their separate ways, minimising any chance this would be connected back to them. Not that there was much chance of that anyway; Connie knew how to cover their tracks, and all footage from today had been erased from the building’s network. By the time anyone from the gang was able to get their story straight, they’d be long gone.

A quick pit stop back in the market, and then they were on their way.

“You know,” Connie said, her chin once again digging into the top of South’s head, “I think I have an idea.”

“You do, huh?” South said, squeezing her legs. “Funny, so do I.”


	4. Branded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna say straight up: I’m _really_ proud of their codenames.

“ _Look,_ _I’m just saying, we can’t keep using our real fucking names. And we sure as fuck can’t use our states, that’s like wearing a giant fucking target saying ‘Freelancer here! Come arrest us for war crimes!’_ ”

Connie quirked a smile, shaking her head as she watched their target disappear out of view. With a few taps she brought up the next relevant camera, taking forefront alongside a feed showing a shadow-covered fire escape. Outlined by the faint light of a nearby streetlight, the shape of power armour was just barely visible against the stark grey of the wall. It wasn’t an ideal hiding spot, but the fire escape backed onto the road, so it would have to do.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, but this probably isn’t the best time to talk about it,” She said, flicking to the next camera. “ETA for the target is ten minutes.”

“ _Yeah and you also said that when we were deciding what kind of jobs we’re gonna take, babe. We sorta gotta figure this shit out_.”

“I know we do, just not in the middle of another job when the target is going to arrive in _nine minutes_ ,” Connie said, trying to keep her focus on the target. Even so, she could still see the way that South had turned to lean against the wall so she was facing the camera, arms folded. “ _Tasha_.”

“ _I’m thinking Nemesis._ ”

Connie tried, and failed, to muffle a laugh, “ _Tasha_! What did I just say?”

“ _You said we have nine fucking minutes ‘til I have to do shit, and I’m bored. This or the job talk, babe_ ,” South said. Somehow she managed to give the camera one of her looks, despite her visor. Connie shook her head.

“Go on.” The job talk was a little heavy, for the now less than eight minutes they had.

“ _Like, Nemesis is a goddess or something. And it sounds fucking cool._ ”

“It does sound _very_ cool,” Connie said. Seven minutes, another camera. She grabbed a drink from the bedside table, and took a sip. “I think she’s the goddess of retribution, actually.”

“ _Even better._ ”

“Hmm,” She put the drink down, adjusted the pillows she was leaning against. Cheap motel room, close to the target location and with decent internet. It was the best recon location they’d found. “Well, following that lead− maybe I’ll be Veritas. She’s the goddess of truth.”

“ _Fuck, that’s_ good _._ ”

“Why thank you. Five minutes until contact.”

South stood up from the wall, turning away from the camera. Connie heard the echoing sounds of her armoured feet on the metal of the fire escape through the radio, slightly before she moved on the screen.

“ _Nemesis and Veritas. Yeah, that sounds fucking cool._ ”

“Satisfied?” Four minutes. “Remember, you only have a short window. You have to jump down and get in before your opportunity passes.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, I got it. Trust me babe, I know what I’m doing._ ”

“I don’t doubt that you do, just reminding− you…” A notification popped up in the corner of her screen, and she trailed off, “…one second.”

It was a news report on the ongoing investigation. Upon pulling it up she was greeted by a very over the top, if very typical, headline about the collapse and the investigation into what happened. Scanning through the report she found very little new information about the actual investigation−the UNSC was being very tight-lipped about the whole ordeal, something that didn’t much surprise her−but towards the end, she saw the mention of a bounty. An extremely high bounty.

“ _Uh, babe? What’s the ETA?_ ”

“Oh− shit, sorry,” Connie said, minimising the article. The target was right around the corner. “ETA ten seconds. You’re up.”

 

“Finally,” South said, vaulting over the guardrail.

The top of the van crumpled under the force of her landing and the vehicle swerved _sharply_ −whether to shake her off or just from shock she didn’t know. It didn’t matter either way, her mag boots kept her steady. Three strides and a drop was all it took to get to the doors, punching out the lock and tearing them open. Her next landing almost blew out the rear suspension.

She scanned the van’s bay. Six people. High grade civilian protective gear. Probably wouldn’t save them against power armour, though. Shame.

“Alright dickweeds we all know what I’m here for. I think you’re gonna wanna hand over the fucking package,” She said, arms folded over her chest. When all six stood up, and yet none went for the package, she snorted. “No? Well, suit yourselves.”

Grabbing the top of the doorframe she disengaged her mag boots and jumped, swinging her full weight right into one unfortunate guy’s throat and head. He went stumbling back into one of his teammates, grasping at his throat. Not a pretty sight.

Using the momentum of the swing South landed another hard kick into someone’s gut and then landed, blocking a fist coming for her face and breaking the arm it was attached to. Back-fisting someone who tried to get behind her she smirked a little when she heard a shocked cry and something hit the road; she’d almost forgotten about the open doors. Grabbing the frame again she used the momentum of another swing to hit the back wall of the bay, launching off of it with a kick that dented it and sent another two tumbling out of the back of the van. Throat-dude went flying immediately, but the second clung tight to the edge of floor. At least, until South shot the floor directly in front of her hands. Bye-bye.

Looking at the three remaining people in the bay−broken arm included−South tilted her head, her gun spinning on her finger.

“You _really_ wanna fucking try?”

Apparently not. All three backed down, one going so far as to throw them _self_ out of the back of the van−and _right_ into a car. _Ouch_.

“Didn’t think so.”

She tore open the hatch that opened into the driver’s compartment, cocking her gun for good measure.

“Okay asshole, you’re gonna follow the directions I fucking give you. Got it?” He nodded, the gun no doubt a very strong motivator. “Good. Okay, Veritas, directions.”

“ _Okay, take the next turning and−_ ”

It wasn’t far, just a detour to get them off the road and out of sight. The van pulled into a backroad and South knocked the driver out with the butt of her gun, grabbing the parcel and jumping out of the back doors. There were a few civilians around, but the whole thing had hardly been discreet anyway, so she barely paid them any heed as she jumped up onto the roof of the nearest building.

“You know, you almost gotta admire some people’s fucking guts. Someone turns up in full fucking power armour, and you try to punch her in the fucking face,” South said, laughing under her breath. “I mean, what a fucking dumbass, but a gutsy dumbass.”

When South arrived back at the Pelican, Connie was still on her way. Depositing the package in one of the storage compartments she stripped down from her armour, shoving it back into their make-shift armour bags. She only bothered to pull on a tank top and some shorts _−_ the colony they were on was warm and it wasn’t as if there was anyone around _−_ before grabbing a drink and a snack bar from their rations. She then simply sat on the edge of the open bay, knees up and arms slung across them, watching for Connie’s return.

She didn’t have to wait long. Connie appeared around the corner within twenty minutes, bag slung over her shoulder and dressed in civvies that South had lovingly described as ‘student chic’. It was an easy way to blend in, excusing the fact she was only renting a room for half a day as giving her somewhere to work undisturbed. And besides that, she looked cute as fuck.

“Well hello,” South said as she approached, leaning back on her palms. “What’s a cutie like you doing here?”

Connie laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly, “You’re ridiculous.” She walked up the ramp, sliding her bag off her shoulder and setting it down just inside the Pelican as she came to a stop in front of South.

“And you’re cute as fuck. C’mere,” She gestured vaguely with a nod of her head, letting her legs fall flat. Connie dropped to her knees between them, leaning close; one hand on the floor by her thigh, the other combing South’s hair from her face. It was starting to get a little long. “Fuck you’re cute.”

“That’s the third time you’ve said so in less than five minutes,” Connie said, not even trying to hide her amused smile. Hooking her hand around the back of South’s head, she pulled her into a kiss. “You’re not so bad looking yourself.”

“I’m stunning.”

“You really are,” Connie agreed, kissing her again. She let out a little relaxed sigh, indulged in the firm way that South kissed, tugged her closer−

And then the hand supporting her slipped, crashing their foreheads together with a sharp whack.

“ _Ow_!”

“Holy shit _ow_ what the _fuck_ −”

Connie burst into laughter first, rolling over and landing on the floor beside South with her arm thrown over her face. South didn’t take long to join her, laughing as she rubbed her head and cursed under her breath. It _stung_ , but well, it _was_ pretty funny.

“Note to self: the floor is slipperier than it looks,” Connie said after a moment, laughter still vibrant under her words. Her arm fell away from her face, and she took deep breaths to try and calm down. When she looked at South, her grin almost made her start laughing all over again. “Stop it.”

South grinned wider, “Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that,” Connie said, batting at her with a lazy hand.

“Why? Can’t handle how hard you’re falling for me?”

“No, because I’m trying _not_ to la− ohhh, _ohhh_ you−” She burst into another round of giggles, burying her face in her hands. “That was so _bad_.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is _awesome_.”

“That was worse than some of _Carolina’s_ puns, I− ah, um,” She trailed off, coughed. The atmosphere drooped, just enough to be noticeable. Connie pushed her torso up from the ground, sitting up and crossing her legs. “Love you, Tasha.”

South smiled, shoved her with a shoulder, “Love you too, Connie. Or should I say Veritas.”

“I’m rather proud of that, actually,” Connie said. She let her head drop against South’s shoulder, smiling as her arm wrapped around her. “Veritas and Nemesis. Truth and vengeance.”

“So codenames: sorted. And cool as fuck,” South said. “Now, the _other_ talk.”

“What jobs we’ll take.”

“ _Exactly_.”

“Well,” Connie said, pressing her face into the crook of South’s neck, “I think we can both agree that anything involving kids is a no-go.”

“Duh. Not going near that bullshit. But that’s not what we were debating, babe. Assassinations, kidnappings, overtly morally dubious shit−they make up like, half the fucking jobs available,” South said, kissing the top of her head. “I mean, taking jobs like this one, just stealing or delivering packages, or being security, isn’t free from us doing more morally dubious bullshit. I probably killed like, at _least_ three people back there.”

“I know,” Connie sighed. “I just don’t want to end up working for genuinely terrible people again, Tasha. That’s the only reason I’m cautious.”

“Well, how about this: you do your computer magic−” (“It’s not _magic_ Tasha.”) “−and run background checks on people, or something. If someone turns out to be a colossal dickhole, then you can even rat their ass out.”

“That _might_ work,” Connie said, voice muffled. When South poked her, she lifted her head. “Clients and targets. Just to be sure.”

“Whatever you need to do babe, it still opens a hell of a lot more jobs,” South said, ruffling her hair. Connie pulled a face. “So, we’ll do assassinations and shit. So long as the job fits whatever criteria you wanna set.”

Connie nodded, “I can handle that.”

“ _Awesome_. That shit pays more, too,” South said.

“Mm, maybe soon we’ll be able to afford something to actually sleep on,” Connie said, prompting a laugh from South. Resting her hand on South’s hip, she played with the edge of her tank. “Rather than just blankets on the floor.”

“That’s the fucking dream,” South said with a sigh, tucking Connie closer to her side. An intrigued sound slipped from her when that hand on her hip dropped from her tank to the waistband of her shorts, fingers dipping just beneath and tracing her nails along her hipbone. It became a very _interested_ noise when soft kisses were pressed to her neck, that hand dipping a little deeper. “ _Babe_.”

“It’s been nearly two months,” Connie said, a sing-song note to her voice. Swinging her leg so that she sat across South’s lap, she pressed more kisses to her neck. “How’s your dysphoria?”

“Mm, not great. But I bet I can get you off before we have to leave for rendezvous.”

The hand traced back up her hip, up under her shirt instead, “I’d hope so, you’ve had _plenty_ of practice.”

South’s next laugh was muffled by a kiss that she eagerly pressed into, her hands rising to Connie’s hips and tugging her closer. Fingers laced into the hair at the base of her skull, tilting her head back as Connie rose up on her knees; her nails dragged up her side, leaving a dull tingle in their wake, coming up to the thicker material of her sports bra−

And then an alert sounded.

“Oh, goddammit− that’s the local frequency scanner,” Connie cursed. Her hands retreated as quickly as they advanced, and she scrambled off South’s lap. Not even bothering to get all the way up, she crawled over to the scanner.

South groaned, flopping back to the floor, “Y’know one day, I’m not gonna get cockblocked by some piece of fucking technology. That’ll be the fucking day.”

“Shh,” Connie said, adjusting the scanner and listening close. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Pushing herself up, she twisted her torso to look at her, “What now?”

“Bounty hunters,” Connie said, without turning away from the scanner. She listened for a moment more, and then glanced at South. “Someone called in a sighting of a Project Freelancer agent, in _purple armour_.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Heh, I guess Nikolai’s in town, huh? Small world,” South said, nerves making her joking tone fall flat. She swallowed, groaned, “Shitting _fuck_.”

“Someone must have seen you,” Connie said, standing up. “I mean, I guess it was hard not to, back streets or not there were still people around and even if there _weren’t_ those private security workers could have called in the hit− this is bounty hunters, not the police, no need to be legit yourself. We should have been more careful, we−”

“Hey, hey, hey.” South crossed the bay, rested her hands on Connie’s shoulders. “I shoulda paid more fucking attention to the civilian assholes hanging around. I didn’t fucking think about it. But a giant walking eggplant is gonna stand out, huh?”

Connie almost laughed, “Yes, Tasha, it is.”

“So, what do we do?” South said. Taking Connie’s hand, she made sure she couldn’t scratch herself and instead let her trace the creases of her knuckles, the rough skin from years of fighting and holding guns. “We have a drop in less than an hour.”

“We’re going to have to complete the drop. We can’t just leave with the client’s package. We need the money, and we don’t need the bad job on our record.” Connie focused on the feeling of imperfections under her fingers, taking a deep breath, “We just need to do the drop, then leave.”

“Do we know how much they know about us?”

“No. They just mentioned the purple armour. They might not know I’m here, they might not know _which_ purple armoured agent it is− but they also might. It’s a lot of ‘might’s.”

“Helpful.”

“I know, right?” She took another deep breath. “We do the drop as planned. We have no choice.”

South arrived at the agreed meeting place in civvies, backpack slung over her back and to any outsider simply looking like a backpacking traveller of some kind. Dropping heavily into one of the benches in the city centre, she tucked the bag between her legs. It was busy enough that no one looked at her twice, which was the idea. Connie had run checks on the city before they took the job−no organised police presence, the minimal force was underfunded and waiting on the return of the UNSC for reinforcements that might never come; a bustling city that was overrun by competing rich folk profiting off the war, but keeping the colony’s economy afloat in the process; people used to looking the other way.

Except, apparently, when they spotted a UNSC war criminal. Though that probably had more to do with the ridiculously large bounty payment than any moral obligation to the UNSC.

South slung her arm over the back of the bench, kept the backpack tight between her calves. A quick glance around the area didn’t give away Connie’s position, even with South knowing full well where she was. So she was blending in, too.

“How’s the situation looking?” South asked under her breath, brushing some of the hair over her ear away. Messed with the earpiece’s reception, sometimes. “See any bounty hunting assholes?”

“Unfortunately,” Connie said, looking over her shoulder at the people that seemed to be circling the square. She was tucked away at a nearby café, sat outside. “About six of them. They don’t really stand out clothing wise, but− they’re circling. At least one of them has a concealed gun, you can see the lump under the back of her jacket.”

“When’s the drop?”

“Five minutes.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Just wait, it’ll be fine. All we have to do is hand over the bag and confirm the transfer, then we can leave.”

Five minutes was a long time when you were aware of being circled like prey. Sure, they clearly hadn’t realised that the backpacker sat in the centre of the plaza was their target−they’d been careful not to let South wear _anything_ purple for this drop−but with only a tiny handgun tucked into her waistband, South felt more than a little exposed. Sure, she could probably take down all six of them, but they were probably trained; without her armour, it was only a level playing field, she had no way to know that she had any actual advantage.

“Are the bounty hunters around here ex-military fucks, or−?” She asked, two minutes away from drop. She was careful not to follow one hunter with her eyes for too long.

“Probably. A lot of them are.”

“So, they’re trained.”

“Tasha, don’t think too far ahead. It’s one minute ‘til drop,” Connie said, gripping the drink she’d bought a little tighter. The only thing stopping her from thinking too far ahead _herself_ was the constant low humming she allowed herself, the sound able to relax her a little. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

Much to both of their reliefs, the client turned up right on time. Dressed with a similar vibe to South they sat down beside her, and after a brief agreed on verbal exchange they pulled out a data-pad and transferred the money. South, becoming more aware of the circling hunters by the moment, contacted Connie.

“Veritas? It transferred?”

“I’m loading it up now,” Connie said, fingers moving swiftly across her data-pad’s screen. As she was waiting for the page she needed to load, she took another glance at the hunters− just in time to see them all receive a communication at once. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing, um− okay, the money’s transferred.”

Without another word South switched backpacks with the client and stood up, taking her leave in large strides and pushing through the crowd. Connie finished her drink in a couple of swallows, and was on her feet too.

“Okay, tell me the truth, what the fuck is happening?”

“They all got a communication at the same time,” She pulled her coat on, shoved her data-pad into her bag, and dodged past the waitress to get out of the seating area. “I’m going to try and pull up the channel now, I have the frequency, but−”

She’d just managed to connect to the channel when she and South met again, at an agreed point a short distance from the drop. It was active with chatter, some of it hard to distinguish due to a mix of dialects and languages, but then−

“Reports of a Pelican, spotted on the outskirts of the city. They don’t know the exact location, but−”

“ _Fuck!_ ” South cursed, slinging the backpack over her back. “Okay, okay let’s just− go.”

Not bothering with side routes and backstreets that kept them out of sight, they made their way back to the outskirts as quickly as possible. It would hardly matter if they got caught or not if they lost their ship, which not only served as their only means of transportation but held their armour; their tech; and everything else they could ever need to capture them anyway. If they didn’t get there first, then there was no chance they got out of this.

“Okay, they still haven’t found it,” Connie said, jogging a little to keep up with South’s larger strides as they approached the final stretch. “We just need to get in and get out of here.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice babe.”

The second the bay door touched the ground, South tossed the backpack into the corner and ran through to the cockpit. Connie dropped her bags onto one of the seats, tore off her jacket and her hat and kicked off her shoes, going straight to the local frequency scanner. Still hadn’t found it, but they were nearby. Soon they’d have a pretty big clue, when the engines started up. Hopefully by then they’d be in the clear.

The bay door closed. Connie pulled herself up into the co-pilot’s seat, watching as South prepped and listening as the engines roared into life. Chatter on the local frequencies picked up, back in the bay, and Connie felt a sudden wave of _relief_ wash over her when the Pelican lifted away from the ground. Almost there.

It was only when they were exiting the colony’s atmosphere that either of them allowed themselves to think they were _truly_ in the clear. South slumped in her seat, muscles relaxing, and she exhaled hard.

“Fucking hell.”

“They’ll have seen the old identification number on the side,” Connie said, brushing her hair from her face. “And if this gets back to the UNSC… they also now know that one of the Dakotas is active.”

“Cock.”

“Exactly.”

“What the fuck do we do?” South said. Navigating them out into open space she set the auto-pilot, if only so she could turn and look at Connie. “Strip the number off the side? Repaint the ship?”

Connie tilted her head, “Well… I don’t think the ship’s the only thing that needs repainting.”

“What? What do you− ohhh,” South said, leaning over the back of the seat, “Total rebranding, huh?”

“Well, we have names… May as well update our look a little.”


	5. Settle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Start of this chapter is about the standard explicitness I’ll be writing to for this kinda stuff, give or take. Hopefully stays within the ‘mature’.

Connie flopped back against the pillows, boneless and panting. A little shiver travelled along her body, the cool air inside the Pelican a contrast to her warm skin and layer of sweat. She took a moment to just lie there, arms spread wide and her eyes on the ceiling as everything came back into focus. Only when a weight dropped against her thigh did she look up, supporting herself on one elbow and using her free hand to lift the covers.

South greeted her with a self-satisfied smirk, head rested against the joint between her thigh and her hip. Where her fingers had been pressed into her hips they now drew soft swirls and circles, sending sparks through Connie’s nerves and yet calming her at the same time.

“Mm, you know, that’s a good look on you,” Connie said, taking the time to brush South’s hair from her face. South had changed her style, the faded purple tips entirely gone in favour of pure platinum blonde and now with a partial undercut, but, well−they both knew she wasn’t talking about that.

“You don’t look so bad from here yourself,” South teased in return. She pressed a final kiss to the inside of Connie’s thigh and then heaved herself up, leaning over her and kissing her. Connie’s arms draped around her neck, legs still lazily wrapped around her hips. At least until South pulled away, rolling over to lie next to her. “You were right babe, this was _way_ fucking better with a mattress.”

Connie laughed, “Told you so. Funny what not getting bruises just from arching too hard does for the mood, huh?”

“You know, I don’t think fucking _anyone’s_ ever been as excited for a fucking mattress as us.” When Connie laughed again, she continued, “I’m not even fucking kidding, we’ve had this thing in here for what, an hour? Two?”

“Two sounds about right.”

“And within the first _twenty minutes_ after we took off, we were on it. Fucking. Just because we have a mattress now.”

“Well, when you put it like _that_ ,” Connie said, looking at South with a grin. South wiped it off her face with a kiss that she was more than happy to return. “I mean, it’s for practical reasons too. Like comfortable sleeping.”

“Oh man we’re gonna have the best fucking night’s sleep we’ve had in _months_ ,” South said, throwing her arms up and out. Connie batted at her arm when it nearly fell on her face, giggling under her breath and shaking her head. “This thing may as well be a fucking _cloud_ compared to the shitty floor.”

“No one can say we don’t have our priorities in order.” Connie stretched out, twisting herself over onto her front and leaning over South. South snorted, hand on her lower back to try and keep her steady until−in her as of yet vain attempts to grab something out of her reach−she collapsed on top of her. “Sorry!”

“Babe, what the fuck are you trying to get? I could’ve−ow−just got it for you!” Elbows jammed into her ribs, and a dance that could only be described as awkward naked shuffling commenced as Connie stretched for their make-shift bedside table−an old arms crate. “ _Babe,_ seriously, what are you−”

“Got it!” Connie said, waving the data-pad triumphantly in the air. Shuffling back went a little smoother, and she plopped down, legs tucked under herself. South just looked at her for a long moment, but with a shake of her head just kissed her shoulder and flopped back again. Laying there she just watched Connie do her thing; she’d always found her concentrating face cute as fuck, like sometimes she even stuck her tongue out a little. Adorable, really.

Well, until that concentrated look changed, just subtly, to one of worry.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She elbowed her side. “Bad news?”

Connie sighed, letting the data-pad fall to her lap, “No, not bad news. Just… no news. Still.”

“How long’s it been?” South asked, cocking her head.

“Almost a month. It’s the longest period of dead news since we left,” Connie said. Scratching at her hands subconsciously, she stretched out her legs and watched her own feet as her toes made wiggling lumps in the sheets. “And it probably doesn’t _mean_ anything, I mean, it means no one’s been captured at least? No news is _good news_ , or, it should be. I just… don’t like not knowing what’s happening.”

“Hey, hey, that’s fucking _fine_. Told ya that first week, say what you’re thinking babe,” South said. Wrapping an arm around Connie’s waist, she coaxed her a little closer and nuzzled against her neck. Connie let herself sink into the embrace, her head tilted back to rest on a broad shoulder. It fell to the side a little when there was a nudge against her jaw, and lips latched onto her neck. “Okay?”

“Mm’kay,” Connie said, a content sigh slipping between parted lips. A hickey later, she opened an eye. “…Are you trying to distract me from getting upset?”

“Maybe.” A beat, a soft nip at the blossoming love bite, “Is it working?"

“ _Maybe_ ,” She mimicked, tilting her head a little more to the side. Firm hands settled on her hips, fingers digging in just enough to send out a dull spark. “I think you can try a little harder, though.”

“Oh I’ll show you trying a little fucking harder.”

Connie squealed and laughed as South flipped her onto her back and crawled over her, capturing her lips and swallowing the laughter in a firm kiss. Her weight pressed Connie down into the mattress, and the pressure alone had Connie melting beneath her. It wasn’t long before hands began to wander, travelling across familiar territory with practiced ease.

Yeah, it was definitely working.

 

Gunshots echoed around the abandoned complex. Shot after shot rang out, until the clip was empty and South let her arms fall. Idly reloading, she counted up the shots that hit the make-shift target on the opposite wall; no misses, a few good head shots. It could be better, but no one could say she didn’t still have it.

Tugging the slide and letting it snap back, she raised her gun for another round.

Sat on the edge of the open bay behind her was Connie, PC on her lap and earbuds in her ears to block out the noise. A tune was on her breath, her head bobbing along to some old song she’d downloaded, her fingers tapping against the keys without any sense of the same rhythm. Getting through their latest target’s internal protection may as well have been a reflex for her, she barely had to think about what she was doing as she broke through several layers of admittedly rather well put-together defences. Hacking jobs like this were easy money, she could often run two at once and have both finished before the clients’ deadlines, and they were relatively low-risk. Handy for when they wanted a break from full-on jobs, or needed money fast.

As her latest program wreaked havoc in the target’s files, she let her attention wander. South wasn’t stood far from the ship, really. She hadn’t bothered with armour today−they rarely did outside of jobs, it felt good for it not to be quite such a constant part of their lives−so she had earplugs of her own in, a little protection against the constant gunfire. She didn’t really need to train, both of them knew that; she was a good shot, always had been, and at the close range she usually worked with it was never really an issue in the first place. It was a personal thing. A way to work out frustrations, something like that. With another few weeks of only minimal info, Connie could understand that.

An alert snapped her out of her thoughts, bringing her attention back to her screen. At the same time she realised that she’d started to trace a finger over the scar on her abdomen, through her shirt. A few quick taps got her past the final wall of defences between her program and the remaining files, and she put the PC down beside her. Staring thoughtfully ahead, she continued following the outline of her scar. It was healed, now, though there was a dull echo of pain when she thought about it too hard. She’d gotten lucky, the blow had been glancing and though she’d been in pain and weakened by the blood loss, it could have been a lot worse.

Sure, if she’d had such a wound back during the active days of the project she’d have been back in the field in a quarter of the time, but all things considered? A few months later was a good time to be fighting fit again. If a little rusty.

Her hand falling away, she got up. Gunshots and earplugs blocked out the sound of her approach, so she had to tap her on the shoulder a few times to actually get her attention. When South turned to her, there was worry in her features.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Connie said. She gestured vaguely back at the PC, “Program’s doing its thing. I was just wondering, well− if you’d help me train for a bit?”

A flash of something−surprise, worry, relief?−crossed South’s face, and she blindly fumbled to tuck her gun into her waistband, “Yeah, I mean− fuck, sure, babe. Sparring?”

“Please. It’s been a while since I’ve done any fighting, I’m probably a bit rusty,” Connie said, giving her a smile that she hoped was reassuring. “And I sorta miss sparring with you.”

“Only sorta? I’m hurt, babe, _hurt_ ,” South said, hand over her heart. Connie laughed, batting at her playfully. “I’m gonna kick your ass though, I’m not going fucking easy on you.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

South was a liar; for the first few fights she _definitely_ went easy on her, using nowhere near her normal sparring strength and deliberately letting Connie get hits in. In the end Connie was grateful, it let her warm up a little instead of just getting her ass handed to her repeatedly because she was out of practice, but still. She’d probably tease her about it later, just on principle.

Sparring with South was always interesting. South had real training behind her, often ignored in favour of her own unique style but coming out in the deliberate way her hits landed, the strikes aimed to disable. She was all momentum and force and finishing a fight as quickly as possible, with as few hits as possible. On the other hand, Connie was all about speed and diversion; even without her unit, she preferred evasion to facing hits head-on and she aimed for weak-spots that weren’t always as obvious as those South targeted. Matches could last a long time before one of them took the upper-hand and turned the fight. As Connie got back into the swing of things, this old routine re-emerged.

“Rusty my ass, you’re kicking the shit out of me,” South said, flat on her back after Connie had swept her legs from under her. Connie raised a brow, looking down at her and offering a hand. When South took it, she had about half a second to realise her mistake before she’d been pulled down right on top of her.

“ _Tasha!_ ”

South burst out laughing, “You totally shoulda seen that fucking coming.”

Connie huffed, “Love you too, Tasha.”

 

“ _So,_ darling _, what MRE are we gonna subject ourselves to tonight?_ ”

“Okay, one: never call me darling again, even jokingly, that sounded like my mother not my girlfriend,” Connie said without stopping typing, the door South was stood beside opening seconds later. “Two: I’m thinking one of the chicken with egg noodles ones. Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“ _Yeah, because we basically eat the same three fucking pasta-based ones all the time_.” South ducked through the door, and Connie made it shut behind her. When South shot some brave−or foolish−security worker in the leg, neither of them so much as flinched. “All the time _, Veritas._ ”

“Hey, we know they’re decent. It makes sense. Three hostiles up ahead Nemesis.”

Two quick shots; South ducked behind cover to reload. “ _Variety is the spice of life, babe._ ”

“Say that again when you have to force yourself to finish an MRE that tastes like cardboard in the name of variety,” Connie said. Pulling up the blueprints for the building, she mapped out where South was. “Okay, two rooms left and you’re at the target. Remember, just plant the explosives and get out.”

“ _Copy that, Veritas. Look, I’m just saying, sometimes you gotta try new shit. Especially if we’re gonna be suffering these things again until the next colony. Or, y’know, until we get some way to fucking cook._ ”

Room cleared, South ran through the next set of doors and ducked back into cover. Two hostiles. No alarms had gone off yet, and the doors were almost soundproof. Probably had no idea what had just happened to their buddies. So, South waited it out, and the second their patrol took them into the room she’d just left, she stood up.

“ _There another way out of the next room?_ ”

“Let me just− yeah, there is. Secure door. I can get you through it.”

South elbowed the locking mechanism, shorting the door’s systems and sealing it shut behind her.

“ _Okay, we’ll do the chicken and egg shit tonight, but I totally get to pick the next one. One we haven’t tried yet. If it’s shit, then it’s all on me. I’ll even make it up all fancy, wine and dine you._ ”

Connie laughed, face in her hands, “Wine and dine me, with an MRE, on our shitty crate-table.”

“ _You fucking betcha_.” She was setting explosives now, set to blow after she’d gotten out of the building and take out whatever merchandise it was that their client wanted gotten rid of. They tended not to ask questions. “ _No one can say I’m not a romantic._ ”

“They sure can’t,” Connie said, barely holding back more laughter. “Alright Nemesis, charges set?”

“ _Yup._ ”

“Okay, the secure door is open and you’re in the clear. By the time you’re out, I’ll having it looking like you were never there. And Nemesis? I’m holding you to that wining and dining.”

South snorted.

 

Tossing the scrap metal onto the pile, South exhaled hard. Brushing her hair away from her forehead where sweat had stuck it down, she scratched the back of her head and rested a hand on her hip as she surveyed the bay. It was already looking much more spacious, the imposing outlines of the rows of seats mostly stripped away; only one row remained attached to the walls, the rest now making up the pile of scrap.

“Three more to go,” She said, heaving another breath. Tugging her tank down where it had ridden up and stretching out her arms, she turned to grab a drink before continuing with the work. As she did, she caught sight of Connie−sat on the floor, arms atop a box, just watching her. South raised a brow, “Y’know, you could help.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Connie said, muffling a giggle in her arms as South gave her a look. “What? The view’s nice.”

“Connie, that’s fucking gay.”

“Mmhm,” Connie mumbled. South shook her head, ducking over to give her a kiss before finally getting back to work on stripping out the last three seats they needed gone. If she put on a little bit of a show this time, who could blame her? “It’s looking a lot better already.”

“Sure fucking is. Walls are a bit of a mess, need patching up, but we have fucking _space_. We can actually like, organise shit,” South said. Each chair took a good ten or more minutes to strip out, leaving long silences as South focused on the work. Not that Connie was complaining, she wasn’t wrong about the view after all; she was more than happy just to sit and watch her, muscles, sweat and messy hair. “Might be able to use the scrap for something. Or just dump it.”

She tossed the last dismantled chair onto the pile, and heaved a breath. Two seats remained intact, close to the bay doors where it’d be easiest to have their prep and de-suiting area. Otherwise, the Pelican’s seating was now little more than a bunch of pieces on the floor.

“There we fucking go. I’ll see if anything’s useable then start fixing up the walls and shit.” South grabbed a towel and wiped her face, exhaling with a whistle. “I’m gonna be so fucking sore after this.”

Connie quirked a brow, “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can give you a massage.”

“Babe, you’re a fucking saint.” South ducked down to kiss her, and this time Connie held her there for a moment before letting her go. Bopping the top of her head against the top of Connie’s, South plopped herself down by the pile of scrap. “Should be able to use some of this to help patch up the walls, at least.”

“You know, I never knew you were good at stuff like this. Mechanics and DIY stuff,” Connie said, chin digging into her arms. South shrugged.

“The asshole−” her father, as Connie had learned recently, “−used to go on about how he wanted ‘his boys’,” she groaned, rolling her eyes, “to know how to work with machines and do basic mechanics, DIY, the fucking lot. Course it never really stuck with either of us, not properly, but I picked up enough. Had to use it occasionally in the army before the project, too. Nikolai, though, he forgot fucking _everything_. Hand him a toolkit and he’ll just stare at you like a dumbass. Must’ve dumped all that info from his head in favour of tricks like splitting a guy in half with a rifle, apparently.”

She snorted a laugh, but it was dry, and the drop in mood was obvious. It was becoming a theme, Connie had noticed; whenever the name of another freelancer came up, the atmosphere got heavy.

But, before she could even consider mentioning it, South dropped back onto her palms with a raised brow and a smirk.

“Now c’mon, are you gonna come give me a hand or am I gonna have to come over there and fucking tickle you?”

“You so much as go to tickle me and I _will_ kick you,” Connie warned, despite the smile tugging at her own lips. She sat up from the crate, stretched out. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

By the end of the day, the ship’s bay was starting to feel _liveable_. With the chairs removed and walls patched up, it felt much more open than it had before. Their bed now fit properly near the back of the bay, head of the mattress flush to the wall just before the wall-mounted storage boxes−the lowest of those had been removed, too, to make room for their makeshift bedside table. It was now at least somewhat isolated from the two remaining seats, the armour bags and other equipment stored there. It was far from perfect, but with what they had? It was good enough.

It was starting to feel a little bit like a home.

 

“You know, we’re actually starting to put together a good network.”

Looking up from her armour, South paused for a moment to shake her spray-can. She gave Connie a nod to show she was listening, then returned to touching up the paint on her armour−it was dark grey now, only the accents purple. Part of their rebranding. Different look, but she figured she still rocked it.

“I mean, it’s not huge by any means, but− we have some regulars now, and people have _definitely_ been recommending us,” Connie said. She was sat cross-legged on the end of the bed, swamped by a shirt much too big for her and wearing little else. Tucking the lazily braided long side of her hair behind her ear, she gestured vaguely as she spoke. “We’re apparently getting quite the reputation for good smash and grab; good clean up; reliability…”

An alert popped up in the corner of her screen, catching her eye but then disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared. Her brow furrowed.

“Strange…”

“What’s strange?” South asked. She set her armour down to dry with a quiet clunk of metal on metal, and sat forward. Connie’s frown deepened, focus entirely on her screen. “Babe?”

“I got an alert, from the program I left monitoring the UNSC and PFL files. But, well, it just… disappeared, which it’s not meant to do until I open it,” Connie said. Pulling up her program and checking it, she found an alert had been logged, but there was no information; the program cited ‘insufficient connection length’. “There was an activity alert, but it’s saying it didn’t have enough time to get any information. Must be why it disappeared.”

South raised a brow, “It supposed to do that?”

“No, I mean− I honestly never tested for that possibility, connecting to the database for such a short period of time isn’t exactly typical. It would have had to be only a split second,” Connie said, waving her hands about. Tapping her fingers against her palm in a reassuring rhythm, she glanced through the records. “It could have just been an error, I suppose. I’ll have to make some adjustments to the program.”

“Guess even genius hackers like you can fuck up sometimes, huh?” South said, standing and stretching.

“I’m not really a genius. You have no idea how many errors I had to fix with the program that I made back on the _Mother_ , one really silly error kept making it crash and−” At the sound of a quiet laugh, she trailed off. “Annnnd you’re just messing around. Shit.”

South chuckled, the bed dipping as she sat down beside her, “Love you babe.”

Connie bumped her shoulder with her head, “Love you too.”

“Speaking of jobs and shit, what job we taking next?” South asked, leaning back.

“Oh! Well, actually, our first assassination contract came through. Well, first one that fits our specifications,” Connie said, pulling up the communication. “Target is a _real_ piece of work. Accusations of all sorts of things, which he appears to have used his money to convince the courts to drop the charges for. In some cases, the evidence should have sent him away for life.”

Tilting the screen towards South, she watched her scan the list of crimes and pull a disgusted face.

“Wow, what a fucking piece of shit.”

“Client is minimal communication, but they’ve given us enough information to go off. The only issue _being_ that well, the best way to take this guy out is going to be a sniper,” Connie said. The bed shifted beneath them, South sitting up with her legs crossed.

“I can probably pull it off,” She said, though there was a tenseness in her shoulders. “Nikolai and I were railroaded into the same shit a lot in our early army days. Same as in the project. Twin thing, can’t fucking escape it. Sure he was the sharpshooter, but I’m not a bad shot. Sniping’s just never been my style.”

“Are you sure?” When South raised a brow, she continued, “I mean, I don’t doubt you can take the shot, I just mean− well− with the whole tie to Nor−I mean, Nikolai, I just wondered−”

A kiss silenced her, short and tense.

“ _Positive_. Accept the job, babe.”

“Okay…” The ‘so long as you’re sure’ was implied, and earned her another look. So she just typed up her reply, and sent the communication. South yawned, kissing the top of her head and swinging her legs to slip off the far side of the bed.

“I’m gonna sleep. You gonna join me?” She said, grabbing what passed as nightclothes on the ship. Bed-clothes was probably more accurate.

“I just want to take a last look at that alert, then I will,” Connie said. Another kiss was pressed to the top of her head, her hair ruffled.

“Alright. Don’t be too long.”

Bed shifting under her weight again, she settled under the covers. Connie glanced back at her, smiled a little at the way she shifted around to get comfortable, and rested a hand on the lump caused by her feet as she pulled up the alert.

It had to be an error. Either it had flagged something it shouldn’t have by mistake, or something in the code caused it to throw up an alert in response to something that didn’t exist at all. She’d have to adjust the protocols, make them a little more stringent. It was only meant to find unusual activity, leaving out any standard UNSC activity and any of her own, but maybe she’d missed something somewhere that she needed to exclude. A quick enough fix, in theory. She could have it sorted in a few hours, tops.

Sighing softly, she shut the PC. The quiet, familiar sound of South’s heavy breathing broke the relative silence of the bay; it was a reassuring sound, something constant, but she hadn’t forgotten the way she had just _tensed_ when North had come up. Whether it was worry or a reminder of her treatment in the project or both, she was uncomfortable. South just never liked to admit it.

Wrapping her arms around South’s waist, Connie nuzzled against her back.

“Love you Tasha.”

South acknowledged her with a sleepy ‘mmhm’, laying a hand over Connie’s. And, despite her worry, Connie relaxed and let herself fall asleep to the sound of her breathing and the reassuring warmth of her.


	6. Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title “no one who was in PFL knows how to communicate”.

Two days later, they arrived in the target’s home city. He lived and worked close to the city centre and according to their information he stuck to a very strict schedule, one that gave them the perfect window to take him out. The plan was simple: South would rent a room under an assumed name, where she would set up her gear and stay for a day prior to the assassination so she could scope out the shot−longer would be better, but they didn’t have that sort of time−whilst Connie ran recon from a nearby internet café. Once the shot was taken; they would get back to the ship; get off the colony; and receive their money. Simple, in theory.

The first day went without a hitch. South tested out the shot’s angle and was confident that she could make it, and the client stuck exactly to his schedule. Everything was in place for the hit. Now all that was left to do was pull it off.

South slammed the door shut behind her, locking it and, pausing, reached back and pressed the ‘ _Do Not Disturb_ ’ on the panel next to it. Grabbing her suitcase from under the bed she hoisted it up onto the mattress, the frame creaking under the weight of it. Her perch had needed to be moved back into position before she left for breakfast that morning−what, she wasn’t exactly going to pass up _actual food_ −so she’d have to move it back. Annoying, but without knowing for sure that housekeeping wouldn’t come before she came back she couldn’t take chances.

She’d just started to unzip her suitcase when her temporary phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fumbled one-handed to pull it out.

_[Veritas] 30 minutes until target’s in position_

_[Nemesis] you getting on comm.?_

_[Veritas] in 5_

_[Nemesis] got it, talk in 5_

Finishing unzipping her case, she kicked off her shoes and jeans. Her shirt joined them on the floor soon enough, her undersuit sliding on like a second skin. After that it was second nature to clip on her armour, muscle memory that required little conscious effort. When her helmet seals snapped shut and her HUD lit up, she took a breath. All systems looked good, but she set a systems check to run in the background anyway.

Connie got onto their secure channel just as she finished getting the desk back into position.

“ _Hey Nemesis. Fifteen minutes until target’s in position. How was breakfast?_ ”

“Fucking _awesome_. There was bacon and everything, babe,” South said. Dragging her weapon’s case from under a layer of civvies, she snapped open the seals. Letting the lid fall to hit the sheets, she stopped and took another breath, her hands pressing into the mattress. And then she pulled the rifle out and started assembling her set-up.

“ _Lucky you. Guess the job has some perks, huh?_ ”

“Sure does.” Getting onto the desk took some rather careful positioning−it had hardly been built to support the weight of her armour, after all, but it would hold. She spent a while adjusting her position, letting her HUD sync up with the rifle and assessing the conditions. “How long ‘til asshole’s in position?”

“ _Nine minutes._ _He’s keeping to schedule so far so we should be in the clear. Your escape route open?_ ”

“Yep. Be out as soon as the shot’s been taken,” South said. Good weather conditions, clear shot from the window to the hit site. Her HUD kept her constantly updated on everything she needed to know, adjusting to every little shift in her gun’s positioning and to her heart-rate. It was spiking a little. She tried to ignore that. “Yours?”

Null question; Connie’s recon location wasn’t anywhere near the shooting site, she’d be able to get up and leave as if nothing had happened. They both knew this. South cursed under her breath.

Connie had a laugh in her voice, “ _Well, unless I don’t finish my hot chocolate in time, I think I’m good_.”

“Hot chocolate? Lucky you.”

“ _Says the one who got a full breakfast this morning_ ,” Connie said. South chuckled, a tenser sound than normal. Hopefully Connie wouldn’t pick up on that. “ _Seven minutes._ ”

South responded with a quick acknowledgement, and let her attention turn fully to the view in her scope. Street was busy for now, but within the next five minutes it would empty; then the target would leave, passing through his preferred route to work undisturbed. It was a simple shot. North could have pulled this off without any of this set up, but she wasn’t North. No matter how much it always felt like people wished she was.

Everything was silent except for Connie’s five minute warning. At least, until her voice sounded again with two minutes to go.

“ _Are you trackers set?_ ”

South groaned, “Veritas, I’m concentrating.”

“ _Nemesis if someone comes up in the hallway behind you_ −” One minute. Target was probably in the building’s lobby.

“Veritas. _Concentrating_.” She shifted uncomfortably, hands adjusting their positions. Her HUD corrected itself.

“ _But−_ ”

A fist slammed against the table, the wood cracking and splintering.

“God fucking _dammit_ North just let me do my _fucking job_ and−” Her breath caught. She could hear the tense silence on the other end of the line, could see the target about to walk past the hit site. She rushed to grab the rifle again, her HUD not having chance to adjust itself before she lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. Messy, messy shot− screams and panic. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck−

“ _Nemesis?_ ”

Wood cracked and splintered further beneath her weight as she threw herself off the table carelessly. The rifle was stuffed into the case haphazardly, the case slung over her shoulder. Ignoring the suitcase and the clothes on the floor she barely paused to crush the throwaway phone with a stomp before making a dash for her exit route. It was still clear, but she’d draw attention anyway. It was unavoidable. She just had to move quickly.

Chatter in her ear was constant, but it wasn’t until Connie’s voice broke mid-word that she she really started to pay attention.

“ _Nemesis,_ please _− report, what’s happening? Are you okay?_ ”

“I’m fine, I’m on my way back I’m just− _fuck_ , I’m sorry. I’m… I’m so fucking sorry.” She was in the backstreets now, on her route back to the ship. It wouldn’t take long to get there. They had to get out of here quickly, especially after how messy that shot had been. God fucking _dammit_.

“ _It’s okay, it’s okay, just− be careful, and_ hurry _. I’ll meet you there._ ”

 

Connie had barely stepped into the bay when the rear door rose up behind her, locking into place with a thunk. Her nails tugged at an old scar on the palm of her hand, the heavy atmosphere weighing down on her like a thick, uncomfortable cover. Her brow furrowed a little, and as the engines buzzed into life she walked up to the cockpit.

“Strap in babe,” South said, already starting take-off procedures. She’d learned a lot about how to handle the ship over the last few months, had taking off down to an art−though she’d once joked that Niner wouldn’t agree. Which had been promptly followed by the now customary drop in mood that came at any mention of an old friend. “Pay’s probably gonna take a fucking hit, huh?”

The ship lifted off the ground, and Connie held herself steady with the wall. As casual and calm as South was trying to act, she could see the rough way she was handling the cockpit controls, the tension in her shoulders. She knew her tells. And most of all, she knew that South didn’t calm down that quickly.

“Natasha…” She stepped forward, rested one hand on her shoulder and the other on the chair. Her muscles tensed under the touch. “We need to talk about this. We agreed we’d talk about these things.”

All at once the tension fell away, her shoulders slumping and head bowing. “I know.”

Connie circled around the pilot’s seat, hand trailing down the length of South’s arm and making goosebumps raise under her touch. It didn’t take any prompting for South to let their fingers lace together, squeezing Connie’s smaller hand in her own and sighing. It took a finger under her chin to get her to look up, to be greeted by a rare moment of eye contact. And by Connie’s knitted brow, worried eyes, concerned frown.

“Talk to me Natasha. What’s wrong?” She squeezed her hands tightly, never once going to turn away from the eye contact. It was South who broke it first, looking away to save herself as much as Connie. “Please, Tasha. I’m sorry I pushed, I usually try not to do that, I don’t know what came over me. You knew what you were doing and− I shouldn’t have interrupted you. I’m sorry.”

South shook her head, “No, it’s okay. You’re okay. I was just− fuck.” Inhale, exhale. Tighten her grip on Connie’s hands. “I was just− _am_ just, I don’t fucking know, _stressed_? I mean− ugh, fucking cock fucking _ass_ shitting−” Another exhale. “It was a shitty gut reaction, I guess Nikolai’s been on my damn fucking mind and bugging me about trackers is just _him_. That’s what that asshole _does_. Did. Fuck.”

“You’re worried.” It was a simple statement, but Connie’s expression was soft and her thumbs rubbed circles on South’s hands, and South forced herself not to cry because she didn’t _do_ that and−

“Yeah. Yeah I’m worried. I’m really _fucking_ worried,” South said, screwing her eyes shut. “We have no idea where Nikolai is. We have no idea where fucking _anyone_ fucking is! _Carolina_ , Maine, Wash− And there’s never any fucking _news_! It’s just endless bureaucratic bullshit that tells us fucking _nothing_ about our friends and I’m− I’m fucking _frustrated_.”

“Natasha, so am I. You don’t have to keep that to yourself.” But of course neither of them had ever been very good at this, not really; _no one_ on the team ever had been any good at this. Connie was never sure how much of that was just who they all were, and how much of it was crafted by the Counselor’s careful manipulation. “I was complaining to you only weeks ago about how there’s been no news, how that made me feel nervous. It’s okay. This situation− it… it sucks.”

“Eloquent.” That earned her a playful shove, almost made her smile.

“Shush you, I’m trying to be serious,” Connie said, even though there was the ghost of a smile on her face too. “We’re cut off from our team, we have no way to know if they’re okay− it’s distressing and awful and I hate it, I _hate_ not knowing. And I hate that−” it was her fault, that maybe if she’d kept her nose out of things that none of this would have happened; that maybe if she’d kept her head down and took it all, things wouldn’t have escalated so quickly, “−we’ve reached the point we can’t even say our friends’ _names_ without the mood plummeting.”

South sighed, “Noticed that, huh?”

“I’m as guilty of it as you are,” Connie said, matching her sigh. “I’m worried, about all of them. About _Wash_ , especially, he was in a coma the last time we saw him but− I don’t want our friends’ names to become something we can’t say. I don’t want our friends to become something we don’t talk about. I don’t want us to forget them, well, forget the little things, I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah I get what you’re saying,” South said. “Goddammit I just, wish I could fucking think about them without− without− Ugh.”

“Without worrying. Without wishing we could do something,” Connie said, and South nodded. “Something besides just… watch and hope for the best. Feels like that’s all we can do.”

“And run,” South offered. “Run and survive.”

“That too.” Taking a breath, she felt the urge to scratch gnawing at her, irritation under her skin. So she held onto South’s hands a little tighter. “We’re together. That counts for something, right?”

“Sure fucking does,” South said. “If I hadn’t gotten out of that shithole with you, I’d have fucking found you. Fucking swear on my life.”

“Not if I found you first,” Connie teased, a wave of relief washing over her as South genuinely smiled. “You’re stuck with me, no matter what. We’re a team, we come as a pair. I should have known better than to ever think you wouldn’t stick by me with all of this, y’know? I should have known better about a lot of things.”

“Hey, shut your face,” so much affection in such a rude phrase, it made Connie smile despite herself, “I mean, sure, maybe you shoulda done things differently but _fuck_ , you just did what you thought you had to fucking do, y’know? I mean. Fuck, I don’t think that came out right, I mean _nmhm_ −” Cut off by a kiss, she accepted it gladly.

“I know what you mean,” Connie said, pulling away. “Thank you.”

A beat, South rested her forehead against Connie’s, “We really can’t do shit, can we?”

Connie sighed, “Not with the UNSC on our tail. We have to just… run, and survive, like you said. Keep doing what we’re doing until something changes. We have this job, at least.”

“The _job_ ,” A sudden reminder of what had happened planetside. South groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I fucked up so bad, that shot was fucking shit. I mean I fucking got him but− we’re gonna get a fucking pay cut, aren’t we?”

“Probably.” No point dancing around it, South never liked that anyway. You were straight with her, she was straight with you. “But it was my fault as much as yours. I distracted you. And I _won’t_ hear anything different.”

A pointed look accompanied the final statement, stopping the protest before she even had chance to open her mouth. South met the comment with a more playful version of that face of hers−nose crinkled, brow furrowed−and oh so maturely stuck her tongue out. Somehow the silly but ultimately unremarkable gesture broke through the last of the tension in the air, and Connie found herself barely suppressing a laugh that then erupted from her in a raspberry like sound. Her head fell against South’s knees, not doing anything to muffle the laughter as South’s teeth dug into her lip in an attempt to stop herself from joining her.

“Glad my face is so hilarious,” South said, muffling laughter behind her bitten lip and a hand. Connie looked up, mimicking her methods and managing to hold in her laughter for just a second before bursting into giggles again. “God you’re cute.”

“Oh shut up,” Connie said, standing up. Draping her arms over South’s shoulders, she looked at her with warm eyes. “We’ll get through this. We just… need to remember to do this. Talk, I mean. It shouldn’t get to this point again. We need to try.”

“Still working on that fucking communication thing, huh?” South looped her arms around Connie’s hips, doing her best not to let her armour dig into her sides.

“Still working on that communication thing.”

Both leaned in for a kiss at the same time, only for a well-timed yawn from South to interrupt them. Connie giggled, pecking her forehead instead and leaning back to look at her.

“Tired?”

“Mmhm. Didn’t sleep well the past few nights.” Or any night recently, if she were truly honest. Still working on that communication thing. “Plus today’s been a fucking _whirlwind_ of bullshit.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Connie said. Arms falling away from her shoulders, she brushed South’s hair from her face. “Go get into bed, I’ll set the auto-pilot and then I need to send the client a communication. Then I’ll come spoon you.”

“I am more than okay with that.” South stood up, catching a quick kiss on her way. Yawning again she picked Connie up by her hips and sat her in the pilot’s seat, bumping her forehead against the top of hers and then ducking through into the main bay. The familiar clunking sound of armour being crammed into a bag was heard soon after.

Connie breathed a heavy breath, watching the expanse of space ahead of them. It always seemed empty, even with colonies not that far away. You never really got used to it, or how small it made you feel. Or maybe that was just her, the person who’d never had aspirations of travelling across space and who was almost relieved when the off-colony university became an impossibility. Who’d always found space fascinating in theory, but never really in practice because there were too many unknowns, too much that could go wrong. Who could never truly enjoy the view from the _Mother_ ’s viewing platform, whether she was sneaking away for time alone with South or simply hanging around with Wash and Maine.

A fond smile flickered across her face. Maine and Wash had this thing about space and the stars; whilst she hadn’t been able to truly enjoy the view, she had truly enjoyed Wash’s fascination and Maine’s love of telling them things about space. It had always been relaxing to sit there with them for a while, watching the vast darkness outside go by. Without Maine to point things out, the view from here in the cockpit didn’t seem unique or unlike any other generic view of the stars. It was much less spectacular, without the massive viewing window or the company.

The smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. It had been a long time since those days; months since the crash, yes, but weeks before that too. Since Maine started to grow distant, since Epsilon tore Wash away−she shook that thought aside, it made it sound like he _died_ −and since Maine started to spend all their time at Wash’s bedside.

That’s where they’d have been, the day of the fall.

She sighed. Tears that she didn’t ask for were swiped away with the back of her wrist, and she sat up. Inputting the coordinates for their next stop she double checked the ship’s systems before standing up, walking back into the bay and retrieving their PC from the side.

As it turned out the client had sent a communication first, confirming their suspicions of a pay-cut but still thanking them for finishing the job. Their money would come through in the next six hours. Her reply was brief, written mostly to show that they had received their message and to apologise for the problems with the job. With it sent off, Connie closed out of the window and went to close the PC.

Before she did, her gaze flicked to the row of news tabs across the top of her screen. There were no alerts, nothing to tell her that there was anything new, but as always there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind telling her to look anyway. That maybe her filters had missed something. That maybe there was news. Her finger was on the trackpad without her making the conscious decision to put it there, dragging across the sensor to the top of the screen−

She closed the lid. Not tonight. She didn’t need the disappointment. 

Sighing softly she set the PC down on the side gently, careful not to make any noise. Item by item she stripped off her clothes and shoved them lazily into one of the storage boxes on the wall, grabbing South’s shirt from under her pillow and slipping it on. It was huge on her, warm and welcoming−sensory heaven, that was what she’d always told South. And that was why South always left one of her shirts for her.

The edge of the bed sunk under her weight, stirring South a little. Connie shushed her softly, shuffling back so her legs were able to cross on the mattress and brushing South’s hair from her face. She grumbled in her sleep, scrunching up her nose as a loose strand fell back and tickled her. Giggling softly, Connie tucked it away behind her ear.

Asleep, the worry and the tension that came with it had all but left her. There was always the risk of nightmares− another thing they never talked about, at least not beyond calming each other down−but for now she was sleeping calmly. After the past few days, that was more than a relief.

A yawn disturbed Connie’s thoughts, and she raised hand to cover her mouth. She pushed her side of the covers down with her feet as her fingers lazily braided her hair and brushed it behind her ear. Shuffling down the bed she wrapped her arms around South, tugging the sheets up again and nestling into the warmth of them and of South’s body heat.

Sleep didn’t come easily, it rarely did these days. There were a million things she could be doing−checking the news (no, she didn’t need the disappointment); looking at the database (nothing would have changed); choosing their next job (it could wait until tomorrow); training or working on her armour (it was too late for that today); just _anything_ besides lying awake, trying not to think too hard.

But, like every night, focusing on the sound of South’s breathing and heartbeat slowly lulled her to sleep.


	7. Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this week I had to figure out general dates for each chapter of this fic. Never again.

As the days and weeks passed by they found their business steadily grew, their network expanding and interconnecting with new branches that brought in new clients, secured more work, and earned them more money. Operating mostly within the same collection of systems that they could reach most easily, they even found themselves with regulars−people who called on them for security contracts; transport jobs; and the like. There was even this amusing ongoing saga where they were being hired by two regulars from competing companies to steal each other’s intel, so far including incidents such as using an objective exchange at the first company’s headquarters to steal the second company’s requested data. It was rather fun, actually.

With every job their reputation grew, until it began to precede them; people knew what they could do, knew them for the skills and training that spoke volumes about where they’d come from and yet really didn’t tell anyone anything at all. People didn’t ask questions, in this line of work; you did the job, you got paid, you parted ways. And if someone got too nosy, you let your resident intelligence specialist create fake backgrounds for you just to get them off your tail.

You know, just fugitive things.

Because as the days and weeks passed by the investigation into the Project went on; the chatter that surrounded it followed them everywhere, into new cities and colonies and hanging over their heads like an ever-present shadow. TV reports; news articles; casual conversations; bounty hunters− it was always there, making it feel like a constant fight to stay even one step ahead.

And yet, despite it all, there was no news about the others. No sightings, no signs, nothing.

But hey, no news was good news, right?

“There! That works!” South tugged the curtain back and forth along the rail, checking once more that it moved smoothly and didn’t catch anywhere. The grating sound of metal against metal filled the Pelican bay until Connie looked up, and the noise stopped. “Oops, sorry babe.”

Connie sat back from the PC, tucking her hair behind her ear as she took out earbuds, “It’s okay, I had these in remember?” Then, considering the dark grey curtain that now hung from a railing above them, “Looks good.”

“Damn right it does.” She gave the curtain another tug and then, finally satisfied it was secure, pulled it to the end of the rail so it enclosed their living area. It was a small detail, sure, but anything that made the bay feel a little more comfortable was worth it. It wasn’t like they were particularly hard-up for money anymore. “Earbuds block out the drilling?”

“For the most part.”

When South plonked herself down on the bed behind her, it was second nature to lean back into her. Strong arms wrapped securely around her waist, tugging her back against her so that she could bury her face in the soft curve of Connie’s neck. Connie relaxed into it, let her head fall back against South’s shoulder as she hummed contently. After a while, South’s nose nudged against her jaw, coaxing her into revealing more of her neck for South’s dutiful attention. Betraying her, her head tilted without any hesitation.

“Mm, hey, hey missy, _no_ ,” She said, after at least twenty seconds without protest. South grinned against her neck, but did as she was told and slipped away, instead nuzzling just behind her ear. “I have work to do, Tasha. _Work_.”

“ _Bor_ ing.”

“Maybe, but if we want to keep our paycheque then I need to do the boring stuff.” Hooking a hand around the side of South’s head, squishing the side of her face in the process, she twisted her neck back to press a kiss to her cheek. Taking that as an invitation, South began peppering firm kisses over the side of Connie’s face as she laughed. “ _Tasha!_ ”

South gave one last mumble, “Spoilsport,” before she stopped and settled, arms encircling Connie’s waist and her face buried against the back of her shoulder. Connie bumped the sides of their heads together, sitting up and getting back to work.

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the bay were the tapping of keys and Connie’s soft humming. Until, after those few minutes were up, a chin dug into Connie’s shoulder instead.

“Whatcha doing, anyway?” South asked, head perched so that she could look at the screen. To her the screen full of coding may as well have been an alien language, but Connie’s eyes scanned along the lines of indecipherable characters with absolute ease, replacing bits and pieces along the way. “I have no fucking idea how you can focus on that much tiny text.”

“Another encryption program for a client. Funnily, for an old target of ours. Their only requirement was that it could probably outsmart _me_ , so… It’s an interesting challenge.” Her fingers never once stopped moving across the keys, her eyes never drifting from the screen even as she turned to give South another kiss on the cheek. “I’m having to teach myself a few new tricks to outsmart my hypothetical doppelgänger.”

“Doesn’t that, like, mean you’re really just fucking making a system that someone smarter than you were before you started this _could_ fucking get into? Like, including you _anyway_?” South said, raising a brow. When Connie’s only reply came in the form of a smirk, South grinned. “You sneaky little shit. God I love you.”

“Well, if they _will_ hire the person who broke into their files in the first place…” She shrugged, giggled a little when South buried her face in her neck. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a heavy duty program. I mean, the encryption itself isn’t extremely complex; it’s no stronger than what’s used on the UNSC’s least classified databases−they use a 512bit encryption key at the lowest level, gradually increasing by about fifty percent with every level of classification and this program uses 512bit too−but it _does_ include a few other tricks. Every time you input the key wrong, it throws back a jumble of confusing misinformation. If you get past that, there’s a completely _separate_ layer of encryption with a weaker bit count but with higher chances of a false positive. By the time you get past _that_ −”

South smiled against her neck, nuzzling against a scar there and just listening to her partner ramble on. Her info-dumps were _cute_. Connie basically lit up like a goddamn sunbeam whenever she got to go off on seemingly endless spiels about various types of coding, encryption, and so on− and South _loved_ it. One of her fondest memories from the early days of their relationship was when Connie had finally received the individualised knives she’d been offered, customised to her specifications, which had started her on an extremely energetic and stimmy info-dump about them. She’d barely been able to sit still, stumbling over her words in her sheer excitement. It was _adorable_ , and when Connie had seemed so nervous about it after she’d realised what a big deal it was that Connie trusted her that much.

So yeah, she really liked to listen to Connie. Even if she didn’t understand a damn word of what she was saying.

But she _was_ still rather mischievous.

“Like I said, it _is_ heavy duty and would stop _most_ people from getting into their files so it’s not like I’m giving them a useless program,” Connie continued undisturbed, head tilted so that it leant against South’s where she nuzzled her neck. “But there are still plenty of people who could break through it with ease. And with how shady these guys are… well, I may have implemented a _aah_ _fuck_ −” Her head fell back against South’s shoulder, teeth digging into her lip. “ _Nata−aaah−sha_.”

Her lips curled into a smirk where they met Connie’s skin, her hand stilling where it had slipped inside of her sweats. Her other hand, however, continued to trace fingertips up over her stomach and between her breasts.

“That’s my name, babe.” There was a hint of pride in her voice. Nipping gently at the skin behind her ear, she pressed closer. “Keep talking. I like listening to you. And I like the way your voice fluctuates when I touch you.”

“Tasha, you− you sneaky−” Huffing half-heartedly, a sound that itself fluctuated somehow as South let her hands return to what they were doing, she did her best to compose herself and keep going. “I may have implemented a− a backdoor, of sorts, that will let me bypass all of th _iiiiss_ if I ever− ever need to _ooooh_ − …god _dammit_ , Tasha.”

To Connie’s credit, she managed to keep talking for another minute or so before giving up on words and dragging South into a kiss instead. South, extremely proud of herself and sporting a cheeky grin, was more than happy to indulge her. And if the distraction earned her a little playful punishment, well that was just an added bonus, now wasn’t it?

“You’re hopeless,” Connie said, when South was tucked against her side, her arms wrapped around her torso and head on her chest. “Even now, you can’t resist distracting me, hm? Hopeless, that’s what you are.”

“Oh please. Like you’re, one, complaining, or two, any fucking better,” South murmured, nuzzling against her. Fingers laced into her hair, traced across her undercut. She melted into it. “Mm, besides, I _did_ say you should keep working.”

Connie laughed, “Oh don’t you even try that. You knew what you were doing, missy.”

“Heh.” She buried her face more against Connie’s chest, squeezed her tight. “You’re still not complaining.”

“Oh, shush.” Pressing a kiss to the top of South’s head, she relaxed. Fingertips traversed along her hip where South held her, following the soft curve and tracing over a couple of old scars. In turn, Connie’s fingertips travelled across the stronger curves of South’s muscles, the scars in the places least protected by her armour; across the soft skin of her back, then down to follow the lines of the tattoos that painted her hips. Humming fondly, she brushed South’s hair from her face. “You really are stunning, you know. Everything about you.”

“Gay,” was South’s heartfelt response. But Connie could feel her smile against her skin, the way she curled more into the embrace and snuggled against her. So she knew the sentiment had the right impact. “…I love you.”

“I love you too,” Connie said, kissing the top of her head again. “Don’t you ever forget that, okay? I love you for you. For everything about you.”

Playfully, South pulled a face, “Sappy or what, babe?”

“I’m capable of being sappy every now and again.” Connie smiled softly, stroked South’s hair. “I am being serious, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” South mumbled, squeezing her. “…You too. Like. Everything about you. And− fuck, you know what I fucking mean.”

Connie giggled, “I do, don’t worry.”

A comfortable silence fell back over them. South buried her head deep in Connie’s chest, draped over her and pressed up close to her side. Connie knew that she should get up and start working again, get the program finished and prepared to hand over to the client, but she allowed herself a few minutes just to lay there and enjoy South’s warmth, her weight. A few minutes was reasonable.

Or it would have been, had a communication alert not rang out from her data-pad.

South whined, clung to Connie a little tighter, “Oh come _on_.”

“It’s probably from a client, Tasha,” Connie sighed, kissing her hair and tapping her head. When South didn’t let go, Connie raised a brow. “Taaaa-sha. Shift your butt.”

“Nope.”

“Alright, you asked for it.”

Moments later South snorted as Connie wrangled her into what could only be described as a playful wrestling match, hands interlocked as Connie pushed her with all her might. Connie wasn’t weak by any means, but South _was_ stronger, so on that alone there was little to no competition. South was able to resist the playful pushing, going so far as to actually hold Connie in place against the bed with a cheeky grin on her face and a laugh. No, it wasn’t strength that Connie had on her side, it was her goddamn sneakiness.

Hooking a leg around South’s hips she turned the tables completely, rolling South onto her back and landing squarely on her hips. With a strong grip on her hands she pinned them to the pillow behind her head.

“Gotcha.”

South opened her hands in surrender, “You got me.”

Connie grinned, squeezing her hands tight and leaning down to kiss her. It was a rather clumsy, the grin never leaving Connie’s face and South laughing when hair fell into hers; when Connie pulled back she was laughing too, leaning her forehead against South’s.

“You’re so fucking cute. And sneaky. Real sneaky.”

“It’s kinda my thing,” Connie teased, transferring South’s wrists to one hand as she leant over to grab her data-pad from the side. It was a bit of a stretch, pushing her up onto her knees and nearly off of South’s hips altogether, but she caught the edge of it and pulled it over onto the bed without dropping it. Barely, but she did it.

Unlocking the pad and then adjusting her hold on it so she could read the notification without letting go of South’s wrists, she scanned the screen.

“Yeah, it’s a client communication. One of our regulars, actually.” Finally letting South’s wrists go, she slowly scrolled down the screen. South’s hands settled on her hips. “Mr. Loric.”

“The dude we run packages between colonies for?” Her thumbs rubbed slow circles on Connie’s hips.

“The very same. Looks like he has another job for us, a retrieval and transfer this time,” Connie said. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she read through the rest of the communication, mumbling along to herself. South waited patiently, or, as patiently as South was capable; she occupied herself by examining one of the love-bites that she’d left at the joint between Connie’s inner-thigh and hip. “Yeah, retrieval and transfer. He has a package he wants us to reclaim,” steal, “on a colony nearby−we’re maybe a day or two’s travel away from it−that needs to be picked up and then transported back to his one of his bases of operation on the next colony over asap. Counting travel time it’s probably about a three to four day job.”

South let a finger trace a line up Connie’s inner-thigh, “Dimensions?”

“Roughly four point five feet tall, then two by two? It’s not exact measurements, more like close estimates. We’ve transported bigger, though,” Connie said, squirming a little; the finger tickled, sent flickering sparks through her nerves. “He describes the package as ‘unconventional’, which is… interesting?”

“Interesting’s a word for it. What the fuck does unconventional mean? What the fuck’s even ‘conventional’ for this dude? I’m pretty fucking sure that we’ve never delivered the same sorta thing more than fucking _once_ for Loric,” South said, brow raised. Following the curve of Connie’s thigh, her finger travelled further.

“It probably just means it’s not intel or tech. Or that it’s an unusual shape.” Her thighs flexed, tensed, relaxed. Over the top of her data-pad, she saw South’s subtle smirk but didn’t rise to it. Not yet. “Loric’s been reliable enough and package runs are usually very simple. I don’t see any reason not to take this.”

“He paying the usual rate?” Hand retreating from her inner-thigh, she instead hooked her hands under the thickest part of Connie’s thighs and let her fingers sink firmly into her muscle. Connie made a quiet noise.

“A little more, actually. About a twenty percent raise on our normal pay.”

“Seriously? Sweet, definitely fucking take it.”

“I’ll send him a reply no− _Tasha!_ ” Connie squeaked, startled into laughter as South used that firm grip on her thighs to flip her over onto the bed. Proud grin on her face, she clambered up over her and started pressing kisses to her neck, her shoulder, moving down her body. “I need to reply!”

“Better hurry up whilst you can still form words then, babe.”

For a moment, she considered teasing South for overselling her abilities−if not for the fact that she wasn’t. So she just accepted the challenge, and quickly typed up a reply to Loric. She’d _just_ about managed to send it through their message-specific encryption software ready to send off when South _really_ got to work, giving her just enough time to send it before the data-pad was willingly discarded in favour of more… interesting uses of her time.

It would be a further hour or more before Connie was finally able to drag the PC back onto the bed and continue work up on on the program she’d been trying to finish since that morning. South provided no further distractions, simply laying with her head on her shoulder and arms draped around her, thoroughly tired out. For the next few hours the only sounds in the bay were once again the tapping of Connie’s keyboard; the soft humming that escaped her, slowly lulling South into a light nap; and South’s groaning caused by the alert that Loric’s response set off.

Connie didn’t move for that, not right away; it would only be more details on the job and that wasn’t worth disturbing their comfort for. They had plenty of time to look it over during the travel time. And anyway, it was nothing more than a simple collection and delivery job; get in, get the package, get out and deliver it. Simple. After a couple more hours the two fell into a comfortable sleep with no reason to think this job would be anything unusual.

Routine job; regular client; a little extra money−they had absolutely no reason to think that there was anything to worry about.

 

That didn’t change over the next day and a half of travelling. Everything about the set-up for the job was routine: armour maintenance; weapons maintenance; preliminary scoping of the target building; running through the plan stage by stage. Of course no job was truly routine, every job presented unique challenges and made changes to their basic structure−and this job was no different. Connie found that she would have to join South on the ground for this particular job, as the location they were targeting was−

“−so low tech that it’s honestly more of a problem than if it had been equipped with the most advanced security technology out there! I can’t access any of their primary systems remotely! Who even _makes_ this sort of tech anymore? I’m going to have to join you down there to _manually_ override their locks and encryptions this is such−”

−a hassle to deal with. Manageable, but a hassle.

South had teased that maybe the reason people still made this tech was _because_ people like Connie were so reliant on wireless connections to do their thing. Said teasing obviously did _not_ end in a pillow fight, because Connie and South were mature adults who did not descend into pillow fights like children. Obviously.

And so, with the only concern being that Connie may be a little out of practice with handling the limitations of a more physical medium, they proceeded with the job as they would any other. A day after arriving in the colony’s airspace, they were officially on the job.

Late at night, the Pelican made a low-energy landing atop the target building−vital systems only, slow descent to minimise noise, a trick South had picked up from the experience that was flying with Niner and practiced since she became their pilot. No alarms sounded. No guards were on the roof to alert anyone to their arrival. As far as their initial approach, they were in the clear.

“No entry-point on the roof, like we fucking suspected. Ready to go abseiling, babe?” South said, grin on her face almost audible.

Connie shook her head, “Does it really count as abseiling when we’re going face first, without ropes, and using grav. boots?”

“Details details. C’mon.”

Their target was on level fifty of seventy five, behind various security doors and human security teams. Connie had mapped out the route using blueprints of the building and uploaded it to both of their HUDs; all they had to do was follow the path laid out for them by their display, and deal with any human or technological obstacles as they went.

Connie was able to enter on the seventy third floor, through an open window just big enough for her to fit through. Immediately her HUD alerted her to the locked door leading out of the room, and the patrolling security staff out in the hall. But, most importantly, it also alerted her to a suitable entry-point for South only three floors below.

“Okay Nemesis, level seventy has another potential entry point. I’m updating the HUD map now. Think you can make your way down there?” She said, already making her way over to the locked door. Her radio was still transmitting when she groaned.

“ _Copy that Veritas, I’ll head down. You okay in there? That was a fucking hell of a noise._ ”

“Unless you want me to info-dump about the impracticality of the type of system they’re using mid-mission, I wouldn’t ask that question.”

South snorted, “ _Copy that, babe._ ”

It wasn’t hard to get through the door, by any means, but Connie was almost comically frustrated by the time she was done. Biting her tongue so that she didn’t go off on her impassioned rant anyway, she allowed herself only a huff before moving out into the hallway.

Disabling the guards took about thirty seconds, and ten were spent on arming and using her unit. Easy to catch a couple of guys off-guard when they thought they were seeing triple, after all.

The next six guards went down without a sound, quick disabling strikes of fists and knives catching them unawares. Halls clear, Connie broke through the door leading to the entry point without interruption and was greeted by South. Now the right way up she was stuck firmly to the outer wall, one hand grasping at some protrusion above her head and, when she caught sight of Connie, she waved.

“ _Took your time_.”

“I took out eight guards, what have you been doing exactly?” Connie teased, unsealing the full-length window.

South swung inside, landing with a dull thud, “Touché.”

“There’s been two guards on every floor so far, and we have another twenty levels to cover. Think you’re up to the challenge?” Connie said. When South stood up and turned around Connie was right in front of her, on her tip toes and splaying her hand over her chestplate. She grinned.

“What d’you fucking think, Veritas?” Fingers curled around the back of Connie’s head and she bent over to let their helmets knock together. “Forty guys, two at a time? Piece of fucking cake. Though, question: why can’t we just use the fucking elevator?”

“Well, uh…” A beat. “…Because the elevator’s alarm and camera system’s control panel is on one of the lower levels. I can’t− I can’t access them.”

“Because basically nothing in this place is wireless?”

“Because basically nothing in this place is wireless.”

“Of-fucking- _course_.”

Luckily, it was indeed a ‘piece of fucking cake’ for the two experienced mercenaries to clear out the next twenty levels worth of guards. No alarms were raised, all without any deliberate fatalities. If anything, the most pressing problem continued to be the low-tech nature of the security. Without Connie’s almost instant control over doors, alarms and cameras that South had become accustomed to it seemed like everything was taking ten times longer than it usually did−and really, it probably was.

“I really do not know how York had the patience for this.”

“Hyperfocus.”

“…Fair point.”

But besides that, everything ran smoothly. Everything went as it was expected to. The last guard went down right outside the target room, South forcing him to the ground and knocking him out as Connie got a head start on the door. All they had to do was get the package and get out. Simple.

“Okay, got it,” Connie said, over the sound of the door’s systems unlocking. “I’ll stay out here and keep a look out. Go on, and remember, four feet by two.”

South knocked the front of their helmets again with a quick ‘got it’ (“See this is the real reason I’m never in the field, you keep getting distracted.”) before ducking through the open door, leaving Connie alone in the silence of the hall.

Seconds later, that silence shattered.

“What the _FUCK_?!”

Connie’s hands flew to her knives, jerking away from the wall like it had burned her and bolting through the door, “Nemesis, what is it? What’s wrong?”

South was stood a few steps ahead of her, blocking something from view; her HUD was trying to paint _something_ in the space in front of her, obscured by South’s own digital silhouette. But whatever it was, it was no threat. South’s stance wasn’t defensive, though it was… alarmed, uneasy.

When she finally turned around, Connie saw why.

“It’s a fucking _kid_! The ‘package’ is a fucking _kid_!”


	8. Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really like this chapter.

“I can’t fucking _believe_ this!”

A discarded spray can sailed through the air and clattered against the far wall of the bay, crumpling from the force and then falling anti-climatically to the floor. Air hissed through gritted teeth and erupted into a frustrated, indistinct yell and her foot met something much heavier−an old arms crate−that slammed into the wall so hard it almost left a dent.

“Loric played us for fucking _fools_ I can’t fucking _believe_ this!” Somehow managing to make the act of unsealing her helmet look angry, South growled under her breath and it too went flying across the bay to hit the abused wall. “Is the fucking asshole picking up or fucking what?”

Connie sighed, dragging a hand down her face as yet another attempt to call Loric was met with no response, “No, he’s not. I’ve tried five times, but he’s not answering.”

South’s chestplate dropped to the floor with a sharp bang. A soft whimper followed, and all activity in the bay ceased in an instant. Two pairs of eyes turned to the child−the so called ‘package’−curled up in a foetal position on the bed behind Connie. They were about four foot five inches tall. Probably no older than eleven. Short black hair, cropped unevenly. Light brown skin a shade paler than Connie’s. Absolutely terrified.

Teary brown eyes peered over their knees, darting between Connie and South before hiding again. Yeah, absolutely terrified.

Connie stood from the bed slowly, watching the child for any reaction. When they did nothing, she exhaled quietly and walked over to South. Holding her hands up so that South could see them she waited for a nod before settling them on her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles with her thumbs. South breathed deeply in time with each motion, tension fading away; eventually, she raised a hand to brush Connie’s hair from her face.

“Want your armour off?” Connie asked, voice quiet. South nodded slowly, tucking the hair behind Connie’s ear. “Alright. Can I…?”

Another slow nod. Connie unclipped the armour on her upper arms, setting it down carefully and then moving onto her gauntlets. Piece by piece she removed all of South’s armour, until she was in just her undersuit. South unzipped it down to her waist without a word, shrugging out of the upper-body and tying its arms around her waist. Connie cupped the side of her face, drawing her attention back to her, and brought her down to rest their heads together.

“You okay?” A mumbled answer came, a yes of some kind. “Alright, you wanna go sit down by the doors, Tasha?”

“Mm’kay,” South sighed, tilting her head so she could kiss Connie gently. Thumb brushing against her cheek, Connie returned it until she pulled away and stepped back. She crossed the bay in broad steps and slumped into the seats near the doors, head in her hands. She’d calm down with time.

Connie watched her for a moment, then glanced back at the child on the bed. She caught them looking at her, only to quickly hide their gaze again when they noticed her watching. Light reflected off the tears in their eyes. So as Connie approached, she was careful not to make any sudden movements or encroach too far into their personal space.

“Hey,” She said, her voice soft, steady. Brown eyes peeked over knees. “Can I sit down by you?”

There was no verbal response, but the child shuffled a little over to the side which Connie took as a yes. Already stripped to her undersuit she was able to clamber onto the bed without pause and settle herself next to the child. Still they said nothing, though she could feel their eyes on her once again. They had yet to say a word since they left the high-rise behind for orbit over an hour ago, in fact they’d made little noise at all besides the occasional whimper and the sobs that had erupted the first time South started to yell. After being locked in a storage room for god knows how long, and being burst in on by two people in power armour and visibly armed? Connie couldn’t blame them.

“You got a name sweetheart?”

The question hung in the air. Connie didn’t push, she just gave a reassuring smile and waited.

“…Mira,” The child said, her hands raising and flashing through finger-spelled signs as she spoke. Connie perked up, raising her hands in turn.

“Hi Mira, I’m Veritas,” She said, following along with her own signs. It had been a while since she’d used USL; she’d learned with the help of Wash to make communicating with Maine easier, especially after they lost the ability to communicate verbally even as little as they did. As much as she had picked up, however, she was far from fluent. “That’s Nemesis, my girlfriend. Sorry she’s been yelling and kicking things, she’s just angry that our client tried to get us to…” Kidnap her? “…take you. She’s nice really.”

Mira’s gaze never seemed to leave Connie’s hands as they flashed through signs, stumbling over the words she didn’t know and resorting to more time consuming finger-spelling. As clumsy as her signing was, it seemed to calm Mira somewhat. She even let her knees fall, legs stretching out in front of her.

“…Okay… Can she not yell now?”

Connie smiled, “Don’t worry, she won’t yell anymore. Promise.”

“…Okay.” She shuffled a little, pulling her legs up so that her feet pressed together.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions, Mira? We just want to figure out what happened to you, and how to maybe help you get home,” Connie said, tilting her head. “If you can’t answer it’s okay.”

“I− Okay. I− I can try.”

“Okay Mira. Do you have a family?”

“…Yeah,” her accompanying signs never seemed to stutter along with her words, fluid and unfaltering, “There’s m-me, Nini and Mama, and− and my brother. He’s little.”

Parents and a sibling, not a war orphan. Connie didn’t know which would have been worse.

“And do you know where you and your family live?”

“R-Radiance?” Mira said unsurely. “I-I think.”

“The colony we just left? Well, I suppose that makes sense. He hired us to move you, I suppose he couldn’t get you off-colony on his own…” She frowned, distracted momentarily by her thoughts. Whatever the story behind this, it was vile; there was no question about that. The big questions were exactly how wide the reach of this operation was, and what exactly its aims were. “I suppose you don’t know the name of your city?”

“Trance. D-District 63, sector 6. N-Nini said I know that,” She paused, then corrected, “…should know that.”

“Your Nini is very smart,” Connie said, giving her a smile. Mira sniffled slightly, but there was the slightest hint of her own smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You knowing that means we can think about finding a way to take you home. Now… Mira, if this is too tough to answer or talk about, you don’t need to. But do you remember how you ended up in that building?”

Tears welled back up in Mira’s eyes, prompting Connie to shift closer and carefully, giving her chance to move away, loop an arm around her back. Mira curled into it, rocking back and forth and back and forth and− Connie was quickly realising that she and Mira may have something in common.

“Grabbed. From school. Taken to a place, and then− another place. Like this. Picked up and− and moved. With− with some other kids.” The words came out in bursts, sharp breaths interspersing them and betraying barely restrained sobs. “Always dark. Person by the door. Yelled at us if we made noise. Other kids got− got moved, too. I-In that last room for− for a week.”

That was when she burst into sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Connie hushed, tucking her close to her side. She’d never been good at this, not really, but she began to rub soothing circles on the girl’s back and kept her close. “It’s okay. It’s okay, you’re safe now, alright? We’re going to take you home, only home. You’re gonna be okay.”

Mira buried herself against her, grasping at the rough kevlar of her undersuit and hiding her face in her shoulder. Connie continued to shush her gently, rubbing up and down her back and making sure to keep her close. Only when the bed sank under South’s weight did she look up, greeted by a small smile and an outstretched hand that brushed her cheek.

She leant into the touch, breathing out slowly, “Hey there. Feeling calmer?”

“Sorta,” South said, shrugging. Caressing the curve of Connie’s cheekbone, she sighed. “Sorry, babe.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. You’re allowed to be angry, Nemesis,” Connie said. She twisted her head to kiss South’s palm, squeezing the back of her hand. “Loric used us. After everything…” After avoiding clients who’d use them for things they refused to do; after doing everything they could to prevent themselves from being used like they had been by the project again…

Connie was angry, too. They just expressed it differently.

“…Thanks, babe,” South said. Leaning forward she kissed Connie’s forehead, sighed. “I uh, won’t yell now. Or I’ll try not to. Sorry for being so loud, kiddo.”

Mira sniffled, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, “…S’okay…” she mumbled, almost laughing when South ruffled her hair.

“How long until our meet time with Loric?” South asked, hand still on Mira’s head. She didn’t seem bothered, in fact it seemed to relax her somewhat.

“Twelve hours. We only have to go a colony over.”

“We’re not handing her over, Veritas.”

“Of _course_ we aren’t.”

South nodded, waving a hand to indicate she hadn’t finished, “But we’re still going.”

“I− Maybe.” Tugging at her lip with her teeth, she nodded subtly towards Mira. “We’ll talk about this later. We have time.”

Mira was watching them, silent but observant beneath the flattened strands of hair that now covered her forehead. South sighed, ruffling her hair again and brushing it out of her face. This was how you interacted with kids, right? Like you interacted with Wash, but less cursing.

“They been feeding you, kiddo?” Mira shook her head. “Buttheads. Flipping buttheads. Alright kiddo, what’ll you eat? You like beef stew?” Mira nodded. “Beef stew it is.”

South hopped up from the bed, pausing to kiss Connie quickly before making her way over to the storage units on the wall, next to their makeshift counter-space. Rummaging around in the various boxes she eventually found what she was looking for and tore open the package with her teeth.

Connie giggled, shaking her head, and squeezed Mira around the shoulders, “How about we get you something fresh to change into? Nice big comfy t-shirt, probably fit you like a dress.”

“O-Okay.”

Within a couple of minutes Connie had found one of South’s black t-shirts for Mira, and left her inside the curtained off area to change into it, out of her presumably weeks old clothes. She wandered up behind South, encircling her hips in a hug and nuzzling against her back. A hand on hers was her only acknowledgement, and the only acknowledgment she needed. Inhaling deeply, she buried her face into the dip of her spine.

Mira reappeared just as the beef stew finished heating up, swamped by South’s t-shirt and chewing on the thick of her thumb. Connie ducked away from South to beckon her over to the makeshift table between the food preparation area and the living area, getting her sat down as South dished up the beef stew and brought it over. As soon as the dish was placed in front of her she began to scarf the food down, barely pausing to swallow. Above her, Connie and South shared a worried look.

She was finished eating in no more than five minutes, dish cleared of every morsel of food and all but spotless. After so long without food it wasn’t surprising, so South set aside the bread, spread and sweet portion of the MRE to give her a little later. Too much too quickly wouldn’t do her any good, but she’d need it.

“How about we find a movie to watch on our PC, Mira? Would you like that?” Connie asked, as South took the dish away.

Mira looked up at her, straw in her mouth and legs swinging, and nodded. Her hands answered for her, curved into semi-circles and tapping the top of her head like ears, all accompanied by a questioning expression. < _Disney?_ >

It was too specific a sign for Connie to know for certain, but getting the vague idea she asked, “Disney?” And, when Mira nodded, smiled. “I think I can find some Disney films.”

As it turned out Connie _was_ able to find a few Disney films for them to watch. Setting up on the bed didn’t take long, leaving the movies to play for Mira as she lay in front of the PC, pillow under her head. Connie sat at the head of the bed, data-pad balanced on her thigh and her attention flicking back and forth between it and the film. Towards the end of the first movie South appeared with the dessert portion of the MRE, getting Mira to sit up so she could eat it and going so far as to let her sit on her lap whilst she did. She even asked her about what was happening in the next film once it started, curiosity that Connie couldn’t pin down to either genuine ignorance or humouring Mira.

Either way, the sight made Connie smile.

When Mira started to fall asleep, they had seven hours left until they were supposed to arrive at drop-off. They were well within travel time, five hours flight until they’d arrive in the colony’s orbit and the auto-pilot keeping them on schedule. There was no time for them to take Mira home before the drop, and so no point in waking her; as soon as she started to dose off they got her settled under the covers of their bed and closed the curtains around the area.

They moved around the bay in silence as she slept. Connie nestled herself into a corner where two stacks of arms crates met and buried herself in files, searching through everything they had on Loric and everything else she could find on him. Loric was a client from their early days, when they couldn’t afford to be as picky with their clients for simple package missions as they were for more serious jobs. Starting from relatively minor red flags that had come up during her initial checks, she delved deeper; bugs she’d left in his system−a sort of collateral she placed on long-term clients−pulled more information out, started pointing towards something much bigger than a greedy CEO looking for a foot up on his competition.

Nothing mentioned children directly, no, there was nothing so indisputably incriminating as that. What there was, however, were records of ‘packages’; listing upon listing detailing so-called packages with height dimensions between four foot even and four foot nine inches, weights of around forty six to sixty pounds. Measurements like Mira’s. Children.

“They’re all being sent to what look like scientific research facilities. The institute we’re meeting Loric at has ties to various shady scientific research projects−not concrete but there’s evidence in their communications and recent activity,” Connie explained, foot tapping against the floor. South was sat across from her on a beanbag, neck craned back towards the ceiling, hands over her face. “Genetic experiments, mostly. Stuff you couldn’t get approved by the UNSC unless you came to them with results that showed it could help win the war.”

South groaned, pressing her hands harder against her face, “Fucking _hell_ …”

“And going by what Mira told us about how she was being moved, and the fact we were hired to _steal_ her? I don’t think Loric is the only one running an operation like this. I think we took Mira from another company doing the same thing.”

“This is so _fucking_ fucked up!” South said, prompting a gentle shush from Connie. When she peered out from behind her hands, Connie was gesturing vaguely at the curtain−Mira. Right. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright, just keep it down.”

“This is so _fucked up_.” She flopped back hard against the beanbag again, bashing her head down against it over and over. “I’m gonna fucking kill Loric. I fucking mean it. I’m gonna fucking kill Loric. He didn’t just play us for fucking fools he’s a fucking piece of shit scumbag!”

“Just make sure we’re still able to use his fingerprints and retinal scan in case I need them to get into files at the institute.”

A long beat of silence followed, long enough to make Connie look up from her data-pad to see what was wrong. She was greeted by a wide-eyed, but grinning, South.

“What, is it _that_ surprising I’d support you killing this guy?” Connie said, raising a brow.

South gave her a long stare, “Babe, if you hadn’t noticed, you’re kinda like… seventy fucking five percent of our moral compass.”

“…I can’t actually dispute that−” (“No shit you can’t”) “−but I’m still not opposed to, well, _dealing_ with people like Loric, Tasha.”

“So I can kill him?” When Connie just smirked, South grinned. “ _Sweet_.”

“As I said, just make sure we’re still able to use his fingerprints and retinal scans. If I can get hold of their files I can send them off to the UNSC,” Connie said. When South repeated her earlier raised brow, she frowned. “What?”

“The UNSC? Babe, I don’t know if you forgot this somehow, but they’re the ones _chasing us down_ ,” South said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t think they’re gonna just fucking take your info and leave us alone.”

“You know, I’m almost insulted that you don’t think I have a way to transfer them intel without giving away our position,” Connie said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her smirk returned. “I can send it from an internet café or route it through proxies. I have my means.”

South held her hands up defensively, “Whatever you say babe. You’re really just fucking proving my point about you being the moral compass here. Goody two shoes, that’s you.”

“I can come over there, you know.”

“Oh yeah, and do what?”

Connie locked her data-pad, setting it down on the floor beside her and pushing up to her feet. She crossed the bay under the careful scrutiny of South’s gaze, following her as she approached and leant down over her. Hand against the wall behind her, knee making a dip in the beanbag between her legs.

“Do this.”

Leaning over her, she cupped the back of her head and slowly tilted her face up towards her, bringing her up into a kiss. Their lips connected, gently, and−

Undignified snorts and laughter broke the kiss as soon as their lips touched, shattering the serious atmosphere into tiny pieces. South’s head fell against Connie’s, a hand flying up to her mouth in a pitiful attempt to cover her laughter. A grin split Connie’s face and she burst into giggles, pressing their foreheads together and playfully shaking South’s head.

“What’s so funny, missy?”

“ _You_ , trying to be all− all sexual tension-y and shit! Babe we passed that point like, _over_ two fucking years ago,” South got out between laughs and snorts. Wrapping her arms around Connie’s waist she dragged her off her feet down onto the beanbag with her to the sound of a squeal (“ _Tasha!_ ”) and ruffled her hair. “Babe _please_ , that’s so not our style and you fucking know it, you flirty, dorky, gay mess.”

“Oh− shush, you,” Connie said, shoving her half-heartedly. When South peered down at her, she was grinning. “I can do romance and serious flirting too!”

“Four words: Me or the database.”

Connie opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was a beat, and then, “…Shush.”

South snorted, kissing the top of her head and tugging her close. “Love you babe.”

“Love you too,” Connie mumbled, nuzzling against her neck. Silence enveloped them, draped over them like a comfortable blanket as they curled up there on the beanbag that was barely big enough for the two of them. A quiet humming was the only thing to disturb the quiet, comfortable and familiar, as fingers danced across old scars and the contours of bodies. It was calming, habitual in a good way; with so much time to pass, they’d often spend hours like this. “…You know, you’ve been doing well with Mira.”

South’s voice was muffled where her face rested against her hair, “Mm, y’know what philosophy I’ve been using?”

“…What?”

“Treat her kinda like Wash, but without swearing.”

That startled a laugh from Connie, quickly hushed in South’s chest, “ _Tasha!_ ”

“What? The rookie’s like, nearly four years younger than me−” (“Two years, Tasha.”) “−he counts.” Her grin was audible in her voice, even muffled as it was. Connie swatted at her, shaking her head. “Hey, I’ve never fucking dealt with kids, gimme a break.”

“You’re terrible,” Connie said. There was a beat of silence, and then Connie groaned. “The worst thing is that _worked_. I mean I know you’re mostly joking but _still_.”

“Oh no I’m a hundred percent fucking serious,” South said, even as her grin spread. Another playful swat, her grin still grew. “You seemed to actually sorta know what you were fucking doing though. Like, besides your whole ‘shit how do I do sympathy?’ thing.”

“ _Gee_ , thanks,” Connie said, rolling her eyes. “Well, I used to babysit for some neighbours to get a little extra money and let them go to work extra hours−you know, after the UNSC bailed on us. So I guess I picked a few things up.”

“I fucking love that your version of being a resourceful teen was babysitting and learning how to haggle and shit, whilst Nik and I just fucking stole shit. And I fucking love that I get to _know_ this shit about you now.”

Talking about your past on the _Mother of Invention_ was discouraged; if you were caught you could lose points on the board or even face temporary suspension from active duty. Of course that didn’t mean it never happened, people learned names and basic military histories and other bits and pieces, but it had always been safer to be vague.

Escaping from the project meant more than escaping the obvious things. They learned that with every passing day.

“I’m glad I get to know things about you too,” Connie said, finally wriggling herself free just enough to tilt her head back and kiss South’s cheek. With a slight twist of her head South caught her lips with hers, kissing her for a few long seconds before trapping her back with her head in her chest. Connie laughed, not protesting; instead she squeezed South tight.

They settled back into that comfortable silence, just for a few minutes, before South spoke again.

“…You ever wanted kids?”

“Not really?” Connie replied, shrugging a little. “Seen too many kids born after Harvest, not knowing anything but war time. Guess that’s shaped my ideas of parenthood a bit. Plus I’m just not sure it’s for me. Kids are nice and all but…” She trailed off with another shrug. Then, raising a brow, “…Why? Do _you_ want−?”

“Oh fucking hell− _god_ no,” South spat out without pause. “Nope, not for me. If anyone’s continuing the _Катин_ line, it’s Nikolai. I’m just gonna be the fucking cool auntie. Give ‘em loads of sweets and shit, teach them their first curse words. Shit like that.”

Connie let out a giggle, “You want to be the Vodka Aunt.”

“I wanna be the Vodka Aunt, _exactly_ ,” South said, grinning. “I’ll be the Vodka Aunt, you can be the− uh−”

“I’ve always liked Bibi.”

“−Bibi who teaches them how to get through the parental controls on the Wi-Fi and shit,” She continued, gesturing vaguely. “We’ll be the best fucking Auntie and Bibi ever. I mean, with the fucking money we make now? We could fucking spoil a nibling _rotten_.”

“True.” Connie caught one of her flailing hands, lacing their fingers. “You think we’re going to be doing this that long, huh?” Thought that they were going to make it that far, thought that they were going to find the others, thought they had a chance. Had _hope_.

“Yeah, I mean, what the fuck else are we gonna do? We’re war criminals, on the run from the cocking UNSC who probably want our fucking heads on sticks, and on top of _that_ bullshit we now have criminal fucking charges from mercenary work on our fucking heads! So, y’know, pretty safe to say we’re gonna be doing this for a fucking _while_ ,” South said, shrugging. “I’m fine with that. It’s fucking fun. Even with the bullshit.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Connie said. She’d started to play with South’s fingers, bending and curling them down. “Guess this is long-term.”

South set her with a look, “Babe, we’ve been at this for like, six months. Half a _year,_ babe. This is already long term.”

“…Oh.” Connie’s brow furrowed; she counted backwards, put together the pieces of their time on the run bit by bit until− “Six months. It really has been six months.”

“Sure fucking has. Time fucking flies when you’re on the fucking run, apparently,” South said, letting her head fall slack. “Six months down, god knows how fucking long left before shit changes.”

“…Yeah, god knows,” Connie mumbled, tucking her head into the crook of South’s neck.

And suddenly, the discussion of a future stung.

 

Hours later, they landed on the roof of the institute. With Mira tucked away in the back corner of the bay, sat on their bed and hidden by the curtain, they let the rear door drop and stepped outside. They were met immediately by a face they knew well−a white man in his mid-thirties and dressed smart casual−who greeted them with a wide, open gesture.

“Nemesis, Veritas! Right on time, as always,” Loric said, approaching them as the bay door closed behind them. He stopped a couple of feet away, bringing his hands together with a quiet clap. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to accept any communications during the past twenty four hours, the institute is very strict about ingoing and outgoing traffic. I’m sure it was of no issue, but−”

“Cut the fucking shit, Loric,” South bit, stepping forward. In armour, she towered a good eight inches over him and in the shallow light of the colony’s early morning the shadow she cast was menacing. Loric shrank back. “We know why you didn’t answer our fucking calls, dickhole.”

Connie stepped up beside her, quiet and cast in darkness, “Care to take us inside, Loric?”

“To be fucking clear: that’s not a fucking request. Inside. _Now_.”

“…Inside it is,” Loric said, holding his hands up defensively and taking a step back.

The walk to his office was steeped in tension, heavy in the air. So early in the morning much of the building was empty, silent; lights turned on at the motion of them walking down the hall. Loric unlocked the door with scan of his hand, leading them inside. The sound of the door sliding shut cut through the silence, though it hung over the room for a moment longer until−

“Now now, I understand that you two have… _objections_ , to certain kinds of work. But it’s only a _job_ , one little package transfer and−”

His back slammed against the wall, South’s fist curled into the front of his shirt. Held above the floor his feet stretched and strained to touch it, to gain some purchase, but only flailed helplessly.

“A fucking _child_ is not a fucking _package_ , Loric! A _child!_ An eleven year old little girl scared out of her fucking _mind_ because you fucking _cockmunches_ stole her from her fucking _family_ and traded her back and forth like a fucking piece of _merchandise!_ ” South _snarled_ , pulling him away from the wall and slamming him back. Loric groaned, his head ricocheting off the tile. “Just a fucking _job?!_ Just a fucking job?! Cut the fucking shit you absolute prick!”

“We don’t do jobs dealing with children, Loric,” Connie said, crossing the room to a desk. A few taps and a holographic screen appeared, letting Connie get to work. “Now, either you oh so conveniently forgot that little detail of our agreements _or_ you deliberately tricked us into working a job you knew we wouldn’t agree to−now wouldn’t _that_ be foolish, Loric? I’m sure you wouldn’t _dare_.”

Loric gulped, “I− I can explain, I swear I−!”

“Can you, Loric? Can you explain deceiving us, tricking us into stealing a _child_ as if she were a package? Can you explain the numerous other ‘packages’ in your records?” She never looked up from the screen, decrypting files with ease. “I don’t think so.”

“Y’know, if I fucking hired a couple of mercenaries to do my dirty work, I’d fucking try to not, y’know, _piss them off_.” South’s fist pressed painfully into his throat and he clawed at the kevlar, feeble and hopeless attempts to drag her hand away. Her grip only tightened. “Think you can fucking use us, Loric? Think a-fucking-gain.”

“Fingerprints and retinas, remember.”

“Oh, I remember babe.” Beneath her visor, her lips curled into a smirk. “I remember.”


	9. Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny warning for some ableist language towards the end of this. Also, this beats out last chapter for the second longer chapter so far.

Within an hour, Connie managed to gather enough information to create a comprehensive data-packet with details of multiple organisations’ involvement in the child trafficking operation. Manifests filled with the details of ‘packages’; the corresponding missing children’s records from Radiance and Luminescence; experiment logs and plans from all of the institutes on the network; everything that she could find, pieced together into a concrete packet of evidence and set to transfer to the UNSC not long after they left.

It couldn’t be traced back to them if it was sent from the institute’s own servers, after all. Especially with all traces of their presence removed from the security tapes, and all references to their aliases deleted from Loric’s records.

Wasn’t as if Loric had anything left to say now anyway.

When the rear bay door opened, Connie pulled off her helmet and walked backwards up the ramp.

“I’ll go check on Mira. You clean your armour. We don’t need her seeing, well…” She gestured vaguely, at the blood stains; red against black and pale purple. It stood out, the lights in the bay reflecting off where it was still wet. “You know.”

“I know babe,” South said, unsealing her helmet. Tucking it under her arm, she blew Connie a kiss. “Go check on the kid. I’ll get us in the air when I’m done.”

Connie smiled, mimicked the gesture. Turning on her heel she placed her helmet down on the seat nearest the doors, then ducked through the curtain and out of sight.

Every armoured footstep echoed quietly around the bay; far above the city there was minimal noise, background static created by cars and music and people, all distant. South left the bay door open, let the background noise filter in along with the soft light of sunrise and the cool morning breeze. From atop the institute’s roof there was a clear view out over the city, of the sky. A little bit of a contrast, perhaps, to South as she sat there and started to scrub away the blood.

Closer than the distant sounds of the city were the quiet voices, Mira and Connie talking behind the curtain in hushed tones and gentle words. Mira had been reluctant to be left alone, accepting it only on the assurance that they would be back quickly and that soon after they’d be able to take her home. With Loric dead and the information sent off, they could now do just that. Take her home, back to her family.

One kid saved, out of untold tens or hundreds. At least it was something.

South lifted her hand, looking at the spot she’d been scrubbing. It was clean of blood, but the paintwork was scratched and damaged in places; huh, guess she’d been rubbing a little too hard. It was due a touch up with the spray paints, anyway. It didn’t have a lot of sticking power−needed better sealant really−but it did the job. Just needed fixing up occasionally.

Piece by piece she cleansed her armour of blood and set it down beside her, ready to be re-painted later. When the final piece was done she stood up, unarmoured feet padding silently across the metal floor of the bay as she made her way into the cockpit and settled into the seat. She started take-off procedures, flicking switches and manipulating controls almost by muscle memory, and then set the auto-pilot to take them back to Radiance. It wouldn’t take long to get there, but with no information besides the city, district and sector it could take significantly longer to find Mira’s family. Not to mention the way the metaphorical heat would rise once Loric was found dead.

It was setting up to be a long day.

Ten hours later Radiance was in sight, the colony’s surface covered by the bright lights of cities as the shadow of night time cast itself over the far side of the planet−in pre-war years, it would have been even brighter. Trance was one of the smaller collections of lights, spiralling out from a central point and tinted with purples and pinks, once you were close enough. District 63 was on the outskirts, the tip of the spiral.

“Now we’re closer, I can try and search local police records,” Connie said, as the Pelican flew in a holding pattern above the city. “Her family has to have reported her missing.”

And maybe that was optimistic. Or maybe that was just South, with the memory of days where Nik and Nat spent days away from home, only for no one to care and saw friends disappear, only for no report to be filed. Or maybe that was just war, and Connie had experienced the same disappearances and the same lack of care but had just retained a sense of hope that had always evaded South. Maybe it was all of those things.

But Connie found something. Connie always found something. If nothing else, South could rely on that.

“Mira Trabuio. Reported missing a few weeks ago, never made it home from school,” Connie said, mere hours after she’d started to look. Turning the PC around so that South could see the screen, she revealed the provided image of Mira Trabuio; the very same little girl currently tucked up on their bed. “That’s definitely her.”

“Thank fu− _flippin_ ’ god.” She eyed the lump in the covers, still well within earshot and definitely awake. Mira was playing a simple game that Connie had been able to transfer to the data-pad; it seemed to be enough to keep her occupied. “Got an address?”

“Sure do. Just finding us somewhere discreet to land. Go change into some civvies.”

“Bossy boots,” South teased, kissing her head on her way past to do just that.

Another hour later, the Pelican set down atop an abandoned parking garage. Night had fallen quickly, casting the unlit building in shadow and providing the cover they needed. Connie and South stepped out into the cold night air with Mira clinging onto South’s back, recognition and relief lighting up her face as she took in her surroundings. Trance was a city alight with shades of purple and pink, sparser out there in the outer districts but unique and recognisable all the same.

South walked them up to the edge of the garage’s roof, hoisting Mira a little further up her back, “This it, kiddo?”

“Ye− Yeah. This is it.” She stretched up, scanning the area. After a moment, she stretched out an arm and jabbed a finger towards a building not far from where they were. “That− That’s school. Where they… You− You know.”

“Don’t worry Mira, no one’s going to hurt you now. You’re nearly home,” Connie said as she stepped up beside them. Elbowing South in the hip, she smiled. “Come on, let’s go.”

It wasn’t far from there. Within twenty minutes they came upon an apartment block, cast in purple shadows like everything around it. Within another two, they’d scaled three stories of stairs and reached a simple door with a small peephole and a dark number in the fifties emblazoned on the metal. There was the sound of voices inside, the sound of a television.

Mira was all but bouncing on South’s back by the time Connie’s knuckles rapped against the door.

All of the sounds from inside came to a dead stop. A few seconds later, the dull thuds of footsteps approached the door, followed by the quiet sliding of a peephole being uncovered.

“…Who is it?” The voice was cautious, tired. “I don’t know you.”

Before South and Connie could even look at each other, before they could decide which, if any, names to give them, Mira heaved herself up onto South’s shoulder, arm thrown over her head and hand digging sharply into the joint, and cheered−

“Nini!”

The person inside gasped, “…Mira?!”

There was the sound of fumbling and opening latches, the door swinging open to reveal a person who looked very much like Mira−dark hair, dark eyes, darker skin, the same nose−who’s gaze honed in on the little girl now reaching for them with all her might. Wasting no time they reached out in return and grabbed Mira under her armpits, pulling her from South’s back and holding her close.

“Mira, oh Mira,” They murmured, face buried in her hair. Mira clung onto them like her life depended on it, hands fisted in their shirt and face buried in their chest. “You’re _safe_ , you’re _alive_.”

“Kennedy? Kennedy what’s going on?”

Kennedy spun around, revealing the young girl in their arms to the paler, blue haired woman who had burst into the flat’s hallway. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening as Mira turned around in her nini’s arms and reached towards her.

“Mama!”

“ _Mira!_ ”

South and Connie watched as the woman ran down the hall and scooped Mira up from Kennedy’s arms, covering her face in kisses and rocking from side to side. When Mira’s hands reflexively returned to signing, they caught sight of the aid in her mother’s ear and the way she signed back with the same fluidity her daughter did. Eventually, Mira’s signing fell apart, becoming happy flaps of her hands whilst her mother gathered her up and held her close.

“…You two,” Kennedy said, turning back around. Looking at the two properly for the first time, they swallowed hard. “Whoever you are. You found her. Where? Where was she?”

Connie glanced at South, then back to Kennedy, “It’s a bit of a long story. Just know she’s safe.”

“No, _no_ , you’re explaining. Come in, if you have to, but you’re telling us what the hell happened to our daughter,” Kennedy said. They stood their ground, arms folded across their chest, meeting South’s eye and refusing to look away.

“…Guess we’re coming in,” South said, raising her hands.

They gathered in the family room. Mira sat on the floor with her mother and baby brother, cradling him in her arms with her mother’s help. Connie sat awkwardly in the armchair, rigid with her knees together and hands atop them, whilst South leant over the back. Kennedy perched on the edge of the sofa, between their family and visitors, keeping a careful eye on South and Connie.

“Go on. How did you find her? She’s been gone _eighteen days_ ,” They said, meeting Connie’s eye. Connie flinched, but didn’t dare break the contact.

“We’re mercenaries,” she began, making sure to sign and catching the way that Kennedy tensed, how the mother’s attention turned to her in an instant, “we were hired to steal a ‘package’ from a facility a few cities over from here, take it to a research facility on Luminescence. When we turned up, we found Mira.”

“So what, you deal in kids, huh?”

“No, _actually_ , we fricking don’t,” South said, leaning her weight forward. “Our client _lied_ to us. Terms of our agreement included _no kids_ , but he kept information from us and sent us anyway. If we dealt in kids, why the heck would we bring her back here to you, huh?”

“She has a point,” The mother said, flashing signs that matched her words.

“ _Rose_ −”

“ _Ken_ ,” Rose retorted, setting them with a firm look. Kennedy met her with a look of their own, but Rose remained just as stubborn, “She _has_ a point.”

Kennedy sighed, “…Guess she does. Sorry.”

“Instead of turning her over, we tried to figure out what had happened to her and why she was taken. We’d have brought her back much sooner, but if we didn’t turn up to our meeting with our client then he’d have sent someone after us,” Connie continued. Eye contact now retracted, she wasn’t quite so tense. “That would have only made things worse than they already were.”

“…You said research facility. What were they going to _do_ with her?” Rose said, looking down at Mira, holding her a little closer. Mira remained absorbed with her brother, rocking him gently and letting him squeeze her finger.

Connie followed her gaze, “…I don’t think that’s something you want to know the details of. Just know that we’ve done something about it.”

“Well, then, what can we do for you in return?” Rose said. Kennedy sat up straight. “You brought our daughter back to us when the authorities couldn’t, or didn’t care enough to try. There must be something.”

“Nah, you don’t have to give us anything. I mean, we still got the money off our butt of a client−” strictly speaking, they’d stolen it, “−and we’re not hard-up anyway. We don’t need shit− I mean, squat. Don’t need _squat_.”

Connie shook her head, tilting back to look at her, “Smooth.” South gave her an awkward grin, and she rolled her eyes. “But she is right. We don’t need anything from you. We were never going to hand her over, and we’re not going to take from you when you have just as little as everyone else.”

“At least let us give you a meal, or something. How did you get here?”

“Pelican.”

“The UNSC drop ships?” Kennedy said, brow raised.

“Long story. It’s parked on that abandoned parking complex nearby,” South said, jabbing a thumb back over her shoulder. “We’ll lay low in it for a few hours tonight and then leave in the early hours. Hopefully most of the heat will be off us by then.”

“Then let us feed you and let you stay here until you need to leave,” Rose said. “It’s the least we can do.”

South thought for a moment, “ _Well_ , I’m not one to turn down actual food. Babe?”

“I suppose we can accept that much,” Connie said, though she still sounded reluctant. A kiss on the top of her head made her relax a little, and she sighed. “Real food _would_ be nice.”

“Then it’s settled. Kennedy, go get some dinner started.”

Kennedy mock saluted, “Yes ma’am.” But there was a smile on their face, and as they passed by their family they gave each of them a kiss on the head.

For the next few hours, Connie and South found themselves spending time with the Trabuio family. Kennedy served burgers, cheap frozen things in simple buns and served with microwave chips, but real food nonetheless. Real food at a real table; with a bantering couple; a child now happily back with her family; and a small baby breastfeeding. As awkward as it was companionable, but companionable nonetheless. Kennedy and Rose fussed over Mira at every opportunity, never seemed to let her out of their sight for even a moment. When one of their attentions was on their guests, the other’s turned immediately back to Mira.

Mira wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon.

The awkward companionable feeling lasted for the rest of the night. When it got too late Mira and her brother were taken to bed, Mira only let out of their sight because of the baby monitor that gave a live view of the room. So for a while the adults all sat and talked, the dull buzz of the TV in the background.

It was then that they learned that the Trabuio family was struggling. Neither Kennedy nor Rose were fit for duty in the army, and Rose was unable to work after giving birth to their son. With only Kennedy’s income, they were barely getting by. It was a story that both South and Connie recognised, all too familiar experience that spanned not only colonies but _years_.

When they finally left in the early hours of the morning, Kennedy and Rose thanking them again as they went, a heaviness hung over them. The walk back to the Pelican was done in silence, fingers interlinked and thumbs rubbing circles on the backs of hands. The silence persisted until the bay door hit the floor with a thunk, breaking through the thick atmosphere and ending it.

“…I’m going to send them some money. Anonymously.”

“Make sure it’s enough to last.”

 

By the next evening, they had another job offer and another colony to fly to. Radiance and Luminescence were left behind, at least a week's travel from the security detail they’d been hired for; they’d return to the sister colonies in time, of course, but with the region’s most prominent regular gone and the aftermath of killing him, it wouldn’t be for a while. Things had to settle. The job was done; Mira was home; they’d tried to help the family; there were other jobs to do. It was behind them.

At least, it was supposed to be.

“Okay, spill.”

“Spill what?” Connie said, hissing quietly. She pressed her hand down firmer over the bleeding wound on her arm, red rising up between her fingers, and watched South as she grabbed the med-kit.

“What’s fucking bothering you, that’s what.” The med-kit dropped onto the seat beside her with a thunk, swung open. South started to rummage through it. “You got your own goddamn knife turned on you! I’ve never fucking seen that happen to you, ever. Sure people have fucking _tried_ , but never fucking pulled it off! So go on, fucking spill. And take that hand off now, I gotta clean it.”

Connie lifted her hand, letting South start cleaning the cut. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope. Communication, babe. Fucking _communication_ ,” South said. Holding Connie’s arm steady, she dabbed away the blood with a saline-soaked pad. Connie didn’t even flinch.

“Right. Communication.” She took a deep breath; inhale, exhale. “I’m still thinking about that job. About those kids, what Loric was _doing_ , what he made _us_ do.”

“Babe, we didn’t _know_. I feel shitty too but fuck, we did what we fucking could, y’know?” The bleeding had begun to stop, letting South finally finish wiping it away. “You sent off all that info, we took Mira back…”

Connie sighed, scratching at that old scar on her palm, “I know that but− the whole reason we’re in this mess in the first place is that I wanted to do the right thing. We were meant to be free from people using us like that; this job is meant to be on _our_ terms. We do questionable jobs but we _pick_ what questionable stuff we do; we choose our clients and demand that those clients _respect_ us; we even try and take down genuinely bad people when we find them! I _like_ this job, Tasha, but− I don’t know. What Loric did just reminded me of all the terrible things that are _still_ going on and that− that I can’t _know_ everyone’s intentions are what they say they are. And it feels like… like I can’t do anything? Like I’m helpless to stop any of this. It’s just like how it felt back when I first realised what was going on back in the Project; I felt _helpless_ , like− like I couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it. I _couldn’t_ , not until somebody picked up my intel. It feels like that again but intensified by every little thing and−” A beat, “…Sorry, that’s… a lot more than I expected to say.”

In the time it had taken Connie to speak, South had finished cleaning the wound and had started to bandage it. Connie lifted her arm to help.

“Hey, it’s fucking fine. Just gimme a second to actual like, fucking process all that,” South said as she finished wrapping the wound, securing the bandage in place. There was a moment of comfortable quiet whilst she put everything away, sealing the med-kit with soft snaps of the latches, and then, “Well, I’m gonna be straight with you babe−” (“There’s not a straight bone in your body.”) “−very funny. No, but I’m going to be honest here babe: you literally can’t save them all. And I know you fucking know that, and I also know you still try to _anyway_. It’s one of the many, many things I fucking love about you. But babe, you can’t put that fucking weight on yourself. You _can’t_ fucking do everything.”

“I know, but I could do _more_. I _want_ to do more,” Connie said. “…Did I ever get around to telling you what it was I did, to end up in the Project? Why they picked me?”

South raised a brow, “Don’t think you did.” Hooking her arms under Connie’s thighs she scooped her up from the seat, carrying her over to the bed.

“I’d been serving in the military for a few years−joined up when funds for my college tuition ran dry, couple years into my course−operating out of my home colony’s capital, never deployed against Covenant forces. We ran missions against local insurrectionists, mostly. Just doing our bit, all that.” Her legs wrapped around South’s waist, feet crossing behind her. She didn’t let go when South tried to sit her down. “Thing is, there were little things that just kept happening−guns would jam, bullets weren’t up to spec, armour wasn’t as protective as it should be, and so on. We lost a lot of people to these kinds of things.”

“Sounds like a dodgy supplier,” South said, giving up on letting Connie go and just kneeling in front of her.

“That’s exactly what I thought. A few incidents we could pass off as nothing, but the scale of it was ridiculous. So, I started to do a little bit of digging through my base’s records; found out that they were skimping out on our equipment to save money for where it _really_ mattered, out on the front lines. Leaving us to die at the hands of dodgy equipment. So I took the liberty of leaking all of that information to the public.”

“…You straight up leaked fucking UNSC files to the public.”

“Strictly speaking, I leaked the _supplier’s_ files,” Connie corrected. “I knew better than that. But it still caused total outrage across the colony. Unfortunately that outrage meant that they tried really, _really_ hard to find the source−and found me. Resident tech nerd, signed up to get my tuition for my Computer Science and Programming degree.” Her fingers laced into South’s hair, brushed over the soft fuzz of her undercut. “I’d covered my tracks well, but not well enough.”

“ _Wow_ , Connie. I should fucking tell you what they had on me and Nik someday, it’s a whole different− Wait, wait wait wait, this is the thing they used to get you in? You, little Mx. Chaotic Good, leaking files to rat out the _UNSC_ and they still fucking−? Holy _shit_ ,” South said. A snort of laughter, her head fell against Connie’s shoulder. “Holy fucking shit. And they still didn’t fucking realise it was you!”

“Hey, it worked because I was _genuinely_ scared I’d get sent to prison for treason or something if I didn’t take the offer. _But_ you’re right about the rest, they _really_ should have known better,” Connie said, shaking her head. Finally she let South’s waist go, shuffling back on the bed and coaxing her to follow. South didn’t need to be told twice, clambering up the mattress and flopping down so they lay face-to-face. “But do you see the point I’m trying to make?”

“Well you went about fucking making it in the most roundabout fucking way possible, but yeah.” That this was how Connie was, that this was how Connie had always been and _would_ always be. Someone who at her heart would do anything to do something she thought was right. Someone who couldn’t just let things go, once she knew about them. “So… what do you say we cause some trouble for some of those other corporations in that trafficking ring?”

Connie’s eyes widened, her face lit up, “ _Really?_ ”

“Fuck yeah. You have all the info still, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I took a copy for us.” Heels of her palms pressing into the mattress, she pushed her torso up from the bed. Her knees slid up under her. “I mean− we’d have to run anything we do out of pocket, unless we can find a client but− that’d be _something_ , right? Of course we couldn’t take it all down but− but we could disrupt them. Like, a _lot_.”

“A fucking hell of a lot. Like, you’re right, we can’t fucking take down all of it, but we _can_ cause some fucking havoc. Gotta keep doing other jobs too, course, but− well, hey, maybe we can try do some more shit like our first job. Smaller shit, but still help− _mmm_.”

Connie cut her off with a kiss, leant over her with her hands either side of her head. When she pulled back, she was grinning.

“I love you Tasha.”

South smiled, “…Love you too, babe.”

 

Hand in hand, they wandered along the sidewalk dodging oncoming pedestrians. It wasn’t terribly busy, just enough that they didn’t stand out; two ‘tourists’, hoods up as a defence against the light drizzle and casting shadows over their faces. Nothing to catch anyone’s eye, nothing to draw attention.

South had jokingly suggested they wear sunglasses, too; it had taken a good thirty seconds of Connie explaining how that would only make them stand out _more_ before she realised South had been joking.

As they passed through the crowds, chatter filled the muggy air and passed them by. Idle conversations about everything from the rain to the war, snippets of people’s lives that flew by in moments. It wasn’t a surprise when whispers of Project Freelancer agents in the area jumped around, cautious, scared and yet filled with an air of scandalous excitement. Rogue super-soldiers, running around _their_ colony; it was hot gossip, the Project still in the news regularly as the investigation continued. War crimes; rebellious agents; AI rights debates− it was all _very_ exciting.

“Wonder if they’d all be so fucking fascinated with this shit if they knew what it was _actually_ like up there,” South muttered, swinging their arms back and forth between them.

“Probably more so.”

“ _Ugh_.”

The chatter only began to fade when the crowds did, as they moved into side streets and away from the high street. Cutting off down an alleyway, they finally came upon their target location−the rear entrance to an old warehouse, hidden out of sight of the street. With the code their contact had given them they were able to enter without fuss, ducking under the roll-up metal door. It was as dark inside as it was vast and empty, so South grabbed the small torch from her pocket and lit it up.

“Where’d the contact say the fucking thing was again?” She said. The light danced back and forth across the various shapes in the room, casting thick shadows.

“On top of one of the beams. Specifically the junction where they meet in the centre of the− there!” Connie grabbed South’s arm, directing the beam of light to the four-way junction of support beams towards the centre of the room. “Can you lift me up?”

“Babe. Is that even a question?” Securing the torch under the basic epaulette on her jacket’s shoulder, she gestured vaguely for Connie to get in position. Then, grasping her firmly by the hips, she lifted her from the ground and, shifting her grip to her thighs, held her above her head. “Can you reach?”

“Just about. Eugh, it’s so dusty and gritty on top of this thing.” With her view obscured by Connie’s legs, South could only hear her fumbling about on top of the beam. Adjusting her stance so she didn’t fall, she hoisted her up a little further− and nearly got a knee to the face. “Sorry! Was that your nose?”

“ _Nearly_.”

“Well, I almost had it a second ago so you can put me down soo− _got it!_ ” South heard something scrape across the metal surface, and Connie’s weight dropped more heavily into her grip. Huffing and, careful not to drop her, she slid Connie down until her feet were firmly on the floor. In her hand was a small drive, which she quickly waved at South. “It’s smaller than I expected, that’s why it was so hard to grab.”

“So, to the internet café?”

“To the internet café.”

Back through the chattering crowds, back to the internet café that they’d scoped out on their way here. As low-tech as the café was in comparison to the equipment Connie had back on the ship, it was safer to work somewhere totally disconnected from them; by the time anything could be traced back to this location, they and the security tapes from their visit would be long gone.

Connie settled herself on one of the stools, logging into the computer terminal and inserting the drive as South went to buy them drinks. When she came back, two coffees in hand, Connie had already started working her way through the information in the files.

“So? Is it what we need?”

“I think so. The cross-referencing process is a lot harder without my programs running it for me _but_ … so far all of the listings correspond to Missing Persons reports,” Connie said. She pressed a kiss to South’s cheek as she leant over to grab her drink, pulling back and taking a sip. “Could take me a while to get down the list, though. Got the patience to wait?”

“Eh, probably. Give me kisses like every ten minutes and we’ll call it fucking even,” South said, wiggling her brows in place of a grin as she took a big swallow of her coffee.

Connie laughed, “Deal.”

Cross-referencing every entry on the inventory sheet was tedious and, when you thought about it too hard, upsetting. The repetitiveness helped with that, at least, numbing Connie’s mind to what the information she was reading really meant as she checked ‘package’ after ‘package’ against local police records. The buzz of the café helped, too, the quiet thrum of voices in the background that gave her mind something else to focus on whilst not drawing her too far away from the monotony.

That is, until the news playing in the background moved onto an all too familiar topic.

“ _…It has now been over eight months since the crash of the UNSC funded organisation, Project Freelancer. Despite the ongoing investigation and various alleged sightings, the whereabouts of the rogue agents remain unknown…_ ”

South and Connie shared a look, a roll of their eyes. It was nothing they hadn’t heard before, though the name always drew their attention anyway−a reflex, a ‘just in case’. It would have been little more than that, had the people sat one terminal down from them not started to talk.

“You heard about all that, Aleah?”

“Of _course_ I’ve heard about it, Thi. You’d have to be living under a rock _not_ to,” Aleah replied, followed by a loud draw of her straw. “It’s a right mess, isn’t it? UNSC is _so_ pissed, all that going on under their noses.”

“ _I_ heard that there wasn’t even anything going _on_ ,” Thi said, leaning in and stage-whispering as if it was all hush-hush. Aleah gave her a look, gestured for her to elaborate without taking her mouth away from her straw. “Apparently, one of the agents went like _crazy_ or something! Sabotaged their _own project_! I heard that they were working with some like, _Insurrectionists_ , to stop the Project from doing its thing and not be able to help the UNSC!”

With every word, South’s shoulders tightened. Her fists clenched, knuckles white. Her teeth gritted. Her foot planted against the floor and she started to slide off the stool−

A hand closed around hers, squeezing tight. South slid back into her seat.

Connie worked one-handed for the rest of their time in the café. When the cross-referencing was finished, she compiled all the combined data and moved it to a new drive, wiping the original. Information verified, all they were waiting on was the next communication from their contact; a date and location, a target to hit. For now they sat around for a few extra minutes, finishing off their drinks, before heading back towards their ship.

“You okay?” Connie asked, once they were away from the café.

“I’m fine. Just don’t like the way they were fucking talking about you.” Her voice was low, the hand that wasn’t linked with Connie’s shoved into her pocket. With her hood up, she looked even more upset. “Calling you… y’know. That word. Fucking _hate_ it. Had it used against me enough, don’t like it being turned on you.”

“I know.” She squeezed her hand, rubbed soft circles on the back of it. “It’s okay. I promise. We’ll be back at the ship soon, and we can forget about those silly strangers who don’t know a damn thing. Okay?”

The tension in South’s shoulders faded, and she squeezed her hand in return. “…Okay. We gonna cuddle?”

“Naturally,” Connie said, stretching up to kiss her cheek. “Come on, let’s get back.”

“…Okay.”

As Connie dropped back from her tip-toes, a flash of something in her peripheral caught her attention. A flash of green, bright and sudden, gone as quickly as it came. Her head snapped towards it, scanning the crowds for any sign of the colour, of the light. For a moment, she almost could have sworn she caught a flash of tan brown, of a face full of shrapnel and explosives scars.

Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

“…Babe? Hello? Ground control to Connie, can you fucking read me?”

A hand waved in front of her face, and Connie snapped back to reality, “What?”

“You okay? You looked like you fucking saw something.”

Connie frowned, eyes scanning the area one more time. “…No, I think− I think I’m just imagining things. Come on, we should get moving.”


	10. Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Into double digits! On a similar note, last chapter actually marked the 1/3 milestone for this fic, and I didn’t even realise.

Two quick back-fists; hands catching and curling into the necklines of shirts; heads slammed together without as much as a glance. Tossing them backwards, South freed her hands just in time to block the fist coming for her face and grab its owner by the wrist; drag them forward into her foot; send them _flying_ across the roof. Landing hard they skidded across the rough surface, scraping if not breaking through their protective gear, before finally coming to a hard stop a few metres away.

As the bounty hunter scrambled to get to their feet, South closed the distance in large strides. A swift, sharp kick to the side of their head knocked them out and meant a killer headache when they woke up−if they did. Power armour and the delicate structure of the brain were a _deadly_ combination, after all.

“Y’know,” South said as she nudged the hunter’s head with her foot, watched it flop onto its other side, “you think they’d fucking learn after the _first_ guy got his ass kicked by the woman in fucking _power armour_ , but fucking hey, I guess the other assholes thought they were better than their buddy.”

“ _Target’s within one hundred and fifty metres. Updating your HUD_ ,” Connie said, accompanied by the sound of idle engines and tapping keys. “ _It’s always the same. No one ever learns._ ”

“See, the UNSC guys? I _kinda_ fucking understand. They’re usually in fucking armour too, not the same fucking grade but like, actual armour. Like that dickass from last week. Armour. He lasted a good twenty seconds!”

Leaping off the roof she rolled onto her feet, no momentum wasted. The marker flashed on her HUD, a hundred and twenty metres away down another drop and behind a sealed door. Guarded, but it wouldn’t be for long. She started running.

“ _You were counting?_ ”

“Look, I gotta do _something_ to keep my brain going in these fucking fights. They’re not even a fucking challenge, it’s so fucking boring. And we’ve had so many of these assholes coming for us lately that it’s not even a surprise anymore!” Ninety metres to the target, a sharp left turn down a connecting walkway. “This was, what, the like fifth fucking group this month?”

“ _Fourth. Two UNSC, two bounty hunters. The fifth was an old client setting some other mercs on us_ ,” Connie corrected. The sound of tapping paused. “ _Four is… still a lot, though. It’s not like we’re being any less careful, either. We’re under two months away from the anniversary, I think they’re just on high alert. Following leads they usually wouldn’t._ ”

“Ugh. Annoying.”

“ _Annoying’s a word. So is ‘concerning’.”_

South snorted, watched the marker on her HUD grow closer, “Fucking honestly? They could at _least_ not bother me in the middle of a fucking job. Like, fucking _rude_. Here I am, just trying to make an honest living…”

Giggles erupted from the other end of the line, quickly muffled behind a hand or her knees, “ _I know, right? What jerks._ ”

“Seriously! At least wait until _after_ I’ve done my job, assholes.”

Twenty metres. Throwing herself off the walkway she landed squarely on top of the guard outside the door. He barely made a sound, something cracking under her boots as he slammed into the ground. Rolling him over, South searched through his pockets and dug out a key-card. When he groaned, she rolled her eyes, dragged him to the side of the door and propped him up against the wall. Out of her way, at least.

“Got the key-card. Be out with the target in five, tops.”

When the doors slid open, she had about three seconds to take in her surroundings before two guards charged at her−just enough time to catch sight of the target, and just enough time to roll her eyes. A spinning kick caught one guard right across her poorly protected gut, sent her flying across the room into shelves full of files that scattered across the floor around her. A knife-hand slammed into the other’s throat, driven by the momentum at the end of the spin; he gasped for air, a terrible wheezing sound, and South finished him off with a mercifully quick shot to the head.

He fell to the floor with a thud. Blood pooled around him. From across the room there came a stunned gasp, the sound of scrambling and things falling; South turned just in time to point the gun right at the woman’s face.

“You wanna try it, fuckass?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, but the guard went to disarm her, went to grab her wrist and divert the gun away and− too slow. She joined her co-worker on the ground.

South scoffed, twirled the gun on her finger. “Why do people always think I won’t fucking shoot?” Tossing the gun in the air she caught it, clipped it back to her thigh. In her periphery she saw the target, backed against his desk with wide eyes. Smirked. “Hey, dickhead.”

He backed further into his desk as she approached. Things fell to the ground, knocked by his scrambling. The smirk that spread across South’s face grew; damn right the asshole should be fucking scared. He was scrawny, had that typical scientist look, right down to the glasses and smarmy look to his face. The kind of face that belonged to an asshole who did fucked up genetic experiments on kids.

“Now, if it was up to me? I’d kill you right _fucking_ now, but luckily for you my girlfriend wants to get a little more information from you, first.” She hovered over him, hand on her hip, as he scrambled back. “And then maybe drop you off on the UNSC’s doorstep, as if those assholes are _really_ going to give you what’s coming to you. But hey, who the fuck am I to−”

She felt the pain before she heard the gunshot.

Agony. Blossoming, burning _agony_ as the bullet tore through the kevlar, through the meat of her shoulder, into the thick of her muscle− the breath was ripped from her chest, her eyes shot wide open, and for a moment everything went black. All she could hear was the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears, her heartbeat fast and frantic and hard and−

A voice on her comms. Panicking.

It had only been seconds. Her eyes came back into focus, saw the gun gripped in the target’s shaking hand; the splattering of blood on his face from the shot; his finger still on the trigger. Instinct took over; his wrist was twisted, broken, the gun stolen from his grip as he gasped in pain− and then the gasp cut off, a bullet through his skull. Blowback hit her visor, blocking out chunks of her vision. She let the gun clatter to the floor; fumbled and grasped at her storage compartment; felt her hand close around the canister of biofoam.

Injecting it hurt almost as much as the bullet.

“Son of a _bitch_!” She hissed through gritted teeth, the taste of iron filling her mouth as she caught her tongue between them. Her head spun, everything around her was a little out of focus, a little out of reach. God-fucking- _dammit_ that _hurt_ that−

“ _Tasha?_ ” The voice was small, scared, panicked. “ _T-Tasha please, I heard gunshots, what’s going on? Has the situation turned hostile? Please, Tasha−_ ”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Fucker had− had a fucking gun on him.” She tossed the biofoam canister aside. Pressed the heel of her palm hard over the wound, a vain attempt to stop the blood that escaped despite the biofoam. Fuck. That wasn’t good. “Only got off one shot. I’m fine. Terrible fucking aim, if he was trying to− trying to kill me. _Fuck._ ”

“ _…You’re hit?_ ”

“Just one shot in the shoulder. I’m− I’m fine.” Everything was going fuzzy. Her HUD flashed warnings at her− blood loss; broken bone; imbedded foreign object; heartrate spiking. She had to move. She had to _move_. Get out of here, get to the Pelican−

She turned on her heel, started running even as the world began to spin.

“Just _one shot?! Tasha a bullet is a fucking bullet!_ ” There was the sound of scrambling; of the curtain rings rattling; of feet against the metal floor. “ _Can you move? Can you get to the walkway outside? I’m bringing the ship around._ ”

“I-I’m fucking moving, I’m fucking moving.”

Warnings blared in her ears, flashed on her HUD making it even harder to see the world in front of her through the blood. She barrelled through the doors all but blind, nearly tripped over the unconscious guard who’d slumped over into the doorway. The thrum of engines filled her ears from both her radio and the space around her, an echo chamber of sound that made her want to tear her helmet off.

“ _The walkway’s too narrow for me to land, can you jump?_ ”

South groaned, “W-Why do I get the fucking feeling I don’t really have a fucking choice?”

“ _I’m at the next turn, straight ahead._ ”

Her HUD painted the ship on her field of view, amidst warnings and blood. She never stopped running. If she stopped, she’d have collapsed, she’d have been _fucked_. Agony and blood loss fought her every step of the way, but she didn’t stop running. Hitting the end of the walkway she launched herself over the rail, her foot catching on the top bar and sending her all but head over heel as she landed hard on the Pelican’s ramp.

Groaning, she dragged herself into the bay as the ship swerved away.

“ _Fuck_ ,” She gasped, pulling herself up to her knees. Blood had begun to pool under the kevlar, uncomfortable against her skin and−hopefully, hopefully−making the bleeding seem worse than it was. The suit had to come off, and so did that fucking helmet that wouldn’t quit _blaring_.

Chest armour was removed, seals were pulled apart, her helmet toppled to the floor; everything was still a little out of focus, but at least the warnings and the blood were gone. She could see, she could hear. Her upper-arm armour followed it soon after, the back of her suit unsealing until she could shrug her shoulder out of it.

Oh, fuck. That was a high calibre entry.

“Tasha−” Connie burst out of the cockpit, still with her bedhead and dressed in South’s oversized shirt. Advantages of being the outside support, you didn’t have to get into armour. “Shit, shit shit shit− Med-kit. Med-kit. Med-kit.”

Seconds later she dropped to her knees in front of South, med-kit in hand. South had slumped over, knees spread wide under her, and had her hand pressed back over her wound. She looked pale, her skin was clammy. The bleeding was just as bad as it had first seemed.

“H-High calibre. I-I didn’t fucking register what the gun was I just− _fuck_.” South gritted her teeth, slammed her fist against the ground as Connie pulled her hand away so she could examine the wound. “I-I already fucking pumped it full of− full of fucking− bio-biofoam.”

Connie was silent, focused on trying to stop the bleeding, on trying to get a good look at the injury. South kept her eyes on her, something to focus on; she felt faint, nearly slipped into unconsciousness until Connie’s voice brought her back, “…We have to get you to a hospital.”

“…What?”

“We have to get you to a hospital. Now.” She did her best to bandage the wound, supress as much blood loss as she could. Her hands shook.

“C-Connie, we fuck− fucking just literally t-talked about everything being on high-fucking-alert!” South hissed, gritting her teeth through the tightening of the bandages. “W-What do you think we’re gonna do, stroll up to a fucking hospital l-like this and _not_ g-get the UNSC called on us?!”

“I can’t do anything for this, I don’t know what’s been hit and I don’t know what damage has been done that I can’t see, Natasha!” There was a note of panic in her voice, as much as she tried to keep it even. A finger under South’s chin tilted her head up, let her catch her eye. Panic, fear, worry. “This isn’t like my stomach wound, where we could see most of the damage, when we didn’t have any other choice but to act _fast_ − we’re getting you to a hospital. _Now_.”

“Connie−”

“I’m not making a _suggestion_ , Natasha, I’m telling you what’s happening!” With that, she kissed her, noses pressed together and foreheads knocking, and wrapped an arm around her back. “One, two, _three_ −”

With Connie’s help South heaved herself to her feet, dragged herself over to the seats by the door. A pained groan escaped as she dropped hard into the metal seat, slumped back. Everything was so… fuzzy. Connie’s mouth moved, but the words were distant and out of focus, somehow− as if that made sense. Before she knew it she’d stopped talking, there was the pressure of a kiss on her forehead, and Connie had disappeared into the cockpit again.

She hoped she came back soon.

It could have been anywhere between a minute and a few hours before Connie reappeared. She couldn’t tell. Her eyes had slid shut, she may have even fallen unconscious for a brief time. It was only when Connie grasped her hand, her thumb running over the creases in her knuckles, that she realised she was back. Forced her eyes open again.

“You’re so pale and clammy…”

South swallowed hard, tried to wet the dryness in her mouth, “W-Where’d you f-fucking go?”

“Just to set the auto-pilot. There’s a hospital only a city over, military. Our ship won’t stand out in the skies. I set it to take us there as quickly as possible,” Connie said, squeezing her hand. South squeezed back, with as much strength as she could muster. “Sorry, but we don’t have another choice right now. I’m not letting you bleed out because I can’t help you.”

“W-We can’t− can’t just fucking _stroll_ into a _military hospital_ , Connie…”

“I never said we were just going to stroll in, Tasha,” Connie said. There was a waver in her voice, like she was struggling to keep it steady. Her fingers started to tap against the back of South’s hand, tap, tap, tap− “We’re going to have to find… _other_ means, of getting inside and getting you seen to.”

“L-Like _what?_ ”

“There’s an entrance on the roof. We can land on the loading pad, I can modify the records and cameras and everything so that we don’t get caught, and then we get in through there,” Connie explained, fingers still tapping in a basic rhythm. Tap, tap, tap− “From there, we’re− well, we’re going to have to… _commandeer_ , a doctor.”

South stared at her, “Kidnap a doctor.”

“Less… kidnap, more… take hostage. We don’t need to take them out of the hospital, just get them to help us.” Tap, tap, tap− “It’s our only option. Y-You’re losing blood too quickly, you were shot _very close_ to an artery by a high calibre bullet and you’re already pale and clammy and faint and− and−” she took a deep breath, dug her nails into her own palms, “−please, just l-let me get you _help_.”

As hazy as everything was, South knew the signs that Connie was showing well. She was panicking, stressed, worried− things that lead to meltdowns. It hadn’t started yet, not properly; it wasn’t past the point that someone could comfort her and bring her out of it. So South held out her arm, the good one, and Connie nestled herself into her side. Her arm around her shoulders and her presence alone did a lot to comfort her. Slowly her breathing evened out, the tapping slowing to a no less repetitive but less frantic rhythm, and though she was far from calm she was no longer on that tipping point.

“Y-You can get me help, babe. Don’t− don’t worry.” She put on her best cocky grin, hoping that it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “G-Gonna take more than a fucking bullet in the _shoulder_ to− to take me out.”

“It better,” Connie mumbled, reluctantly pulling away. Feeling wet against her skin, she frowned when she saw the blood on South’s big shirt, tried to dab at it.

“I’ll g-give you a new one.”

“Okay,” She said, swallowing a lump in her throat as she pulled the shirt over her head and balled it up. Her hands were still red with South’s blood, and now there was a big patch on her chest where it had soaked through the material. “That’ll smell like you again. That’s− I’d like that.”

It wasn’t long after that they hit the city, and Connie−now dressed in their street job gear−went into the cockpit to navigate a landing and fiddle with the necessary systems and records. South waited, fought to stay conscious without Connie there at her side, until the tell-tale thud of their landing and Connie’s return. It was a struggle to pull herself back up to her feet, and a struggle for Connie to support her as they exited the ship; with just over a foot difference between them, it was a feat all of its own for them to reach the entry point let alone navigate their way down multiple flights of stairs.

But they made it work. It _had_ to work.

 

Dr Tilki sighed, flicking her finger up the screen of her data-pad; the further through the list she scrolled the more her brow knitted, new patient after new patient going by until finally she hit the bottom of the page. Soldiers from every branch of the army from Navy to the Marines arrived on their doorstep in droves, more and more of them by the day. Any injured soldier who could survive the trip to the outer colonies was being sent out here away from the front lines and spread between various hospitals, military or otherwise. It made sense and she agreed with the principle, but there were just so _many_ of them that it was becoming overwhelming.

They didn’t have the resources for this.

Locking her data-pad, Tilki checked her comm. and, finding no new alerts, decided she could risk trying to have lunch. At least this newest ship full of casualties wouldn’t arrive until the next day, they’d have time to get everything ready. She might even have time to go home and have dinner with her wife before the rush began, now wouldn’t that be novel?

She’d just turned the corner onto her office’s hallway when a hand caught her shoulder, “Meryem! Wait up!”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Tilki turned, “Yes, Dr. Bélanger?”

“Do you think you could do me a big favour and take over on one of my patients? Some complications came up with the Lt. I’m also working with and−” Bélanger said, showing all the signs of starting to ramble unnecessarily. Tilki sighed, holding up a hand. Bélanger stopped. “Right! I was going to just send you a comm. but then I saw you, so I figured I’d ask in person.”

“I’ll take them. Just send me the file,” Tilki said, already cursing herself internally. She’d duck into her office and grab lunch on the go.

Bélanger heaved a sigh of relief, “Oh thank god, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll send it right over. Thank you.” And then she was on her way, pulling her data-pad out as she went. Seconds later, a quiet beep came from Tilki’s comm.

So much for dinner with the wife, she guessed.

Resolving to stick to her plan and grab lunch on the go, she keyed in the code for her office and stepped inside. Heading straight for the bag leant against her desk that held her lunch she crouched down, a hand on the corner of the desk to steady herself and−

Those were legs. Behind her desk.

She raised her head just as the gun cocked.

Despite the pistol in their hand, the short brunette had a look of genuine apology on their face. “Sorry, doctor, but we don’t have any other choice.”

 

The door sealed shut behind them with a soft click, a mechanical beep. Locked. It was the only entry and exit point in the room, the windows leading out to an uninterrupted multi-story drop. Only an exit point if you wanted to die, and Tilki didn’t want to die.

“What exactly happened to her?” Tilki asked, supporting the tall woman until she could collapse onto the bed by the wall. She was hyperaware of the pistol, still held firmly in the other person’s hand. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a gun, of course not, but it was the first time she’d been _threatened_ with one. She could admit that she was scared.

“She was shot. Close range, high calibre. Yes, close means close, within a couple feet. No, we don’t know the make or exact calibre of the gun. No, there’s no exit wound. Yes, she’s used biofoam to try and stop the bleeding. No, she’s not taken any painkillers. No, she doesn’t have any allergies.”

Tilki closed her open mouth. Well, at least they’d come prepared to their hostage situation. How polite of them.

“Dare I ask _why_ she was shot?” Tilki said. When she received no answer, she shook her head. “Guess not.”

The tall woman flinched and groaned in pain when she peeled away the thick layer of kevlar from her skin; the bandages had prevented it from getting stuck, but manoeuvring her shoulder to pull it off would hurt. She hadn’t seen this type of kevlar on soldiers before; whatever these people were involved in, it was way above her paygrade.

“Just examine her, do what you can for her, and tell me how I can help her in the long run,” Short one said. They paused, and then added− “Please.”

How polite indeed.

Her examination was quick and focused; the woman was losing a lot of blood very quickly. Some relatively non-intrusive prodding and scans all painted the same picture: a high calibre bullet in the joint space immediately adjacent to the humeral head that had barely missed the axillary artery, but must have ruptured something else along the way. She could fix it; the bullet would need to be removed due to its close proximity to the joint, then it would be a matter of stopping the blood and sealing the wound. After that, she’d need a blood transfusion and a more detailed x-ray to tell her how much damage had been done to the head of the humerus itself.

“Whatever you do, you do in this room. We’re not moving about the hospital,” Was short one’s response when she relayed what she’d found. “We’re not getting caught.”

“You do understand that you’re essentially asking me to do minor surgery in a standard room, with very little in the way of drugs or equipment, right?” Tilki said, brow raised.

The tall one snorted, “D-Doc, I can fucking g-guaran− guaran _tee_ t-that I’ve ha-had worse. J-Just give m-me whatever the fuck you g-got and something to bite on.”

“I don’t think−” Short one waved the pistol, and the protest died on the tip of her tongue. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It was lucky that every doctor had been required to learn the basics of field medicine since Harvest, since the war became an unavoidable reality that could turn up on your doorstep at any moment completely unannounced. Because that’s what this was, field medicine in the middle of a high-tech hospital filled with equipment and drugs that could make this much, _much_ easier in any normal situation.

Of course these people had to pick _her_ office, didn’t they?

With what she had on hand, Tilki sedated the tall woman; did what she could to numb the area; and passed her something to bite down on. When the woman was settled, her breathing evening out even around the stick in her mouth, Tilki gathered her other equipment.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

The tall woman stretched out her good arm towards the short one and, though Tilki caught a hint of hesitance in them, they crossed the room and took her hand. Let the woman squeeze it. Pistol still grasped firmly in the other.

Tilki swallowed the lump in her throat, and got to work.

The local anaesthesia wasn’t as strong as it should have been. Even with the stick clamped firmly between her teeth, the woman’s pained cries filled the room. Her eyes scrunched shut, her knuckles turned white for how tightly she was holding onto the short one’s hand. After a particularly harsh scream of pain, Tilki glanced up for just long enough to see the gun slip into the short one’s waistband so they could take her hand in both of theirs. They looked… scared.

Tilki was well accustomed to screams and pain; she remained focused on her work despite the noise. The procedure itself was simple enough, the bullet extracted as quickly as was safe; the bleeding stopped; and the entry wound closed up.

By the time she was done, the tall woman was out cold and the short one looked on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“I’ll give her a blood transfusion and take an x-ray of that shoulder. You’re going to have to stay here overnight, but I can’t give you any longer than that. We need this room for soldiers coming tomorrow,” Tilki said, peeling off her blood-soaked latex gloves. She raised a brow. “Unless you’re planning on holding the whole hospital hostage just to get yourselves the stay you desire.”

“We’ll− we’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible. I’m sorry, I was− I was never going to hurt you, but I didn’t have any other option. I wasn’t going to let her die,” They said, voice shaking. Two fingers tapped against the outside of their thigh, a simple repetitive rhythm. “Thank you. For helping her.”

“Excuse me if I don’t return the niceties.” She tossed the gloves into the disposables. “I’ll get on that transfusion and x-ray. I’m not going to get shot if I leave to gather what I need, am I?”

“…No. I won’t shoot you.”

“Wonderful. Then I can finish saving your partner’s life.”

 

Two hours later, they were alone.

Dr. Tilki had performed the transfusion and taken an x-ray of South’s shoulder; the humeral head wasn’t shattered, but there was significant damage that would take time and physiotherapy to heal. South had been provided with a collar and cuff sling to immobilise the arm, and drugs to combat the pain. She was stable, and some of the colour had returned to her cheeks.

But she was also tired. Loss of blood combined with the drugs and the stress of the day had left her drained, and within minutes of Dr. Tilki leaving them alone−sealing off the room from the outside as she went−she was asleep.

The monitor she was hooked up to filled the room with steady, repetitive beeps. It was the only sound besides her faint breathing, and the nervous tapping of Connie’s fingers against the bedframe. Connie didn’t like it, it was too quiet. South should have been chattering away about nothing, or there should have been music playing from her PC, or at the very least the familiar buzz of the engines should have been providing white noise. Instead, there was silence.

It made her skin _crawl_.

South wouldn’t want her to scratch, she told herself, but the urge was there nonetheless. She could feel the meltdown under her skin and in her chest, tight and invasive and clawing its way up in an attempt to overwhelm her−a feeling she knew all too well. She’d fought it off earlier so that South wouldn’t worry, wouldn’t stress about her when she was already bleeding out, but she’d known even then that it would claw its way back eventually. It had only been a matter of time.

She felt _ridiculous_. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen South with an injury; it wasn’t even the worst injury she’d ever seen her get−no, _that_ honour went to the sniper round through the left side of her chest. South’s body was littered with scars from bullets, knives− injuries of all kinds, many of which could easily have killed her.

This shouldn’t be any different.

Staying awake was doing her no favours. It had gone dark over an hour ago, the night sky alight with arrangements of stars that she was sure Maine could have told her about in great detail. They’d have hated being here, though; they never did like hospitals.

The ache in her chest blossomed outwards. No, that wasn’t helping at all. She should sleep.

Luckily, the room had been designed for two patients to stay in; there was a second bed set up just along from where South lay resting. Reluctant though she was, Connie leaned down, pressed a gentle kiss to South’s forehead and went across to the other bed. She was under no illusion that sleep would come easily, but it was better than sitting awake just waiting for the meltdown to cement its hold on her.

Eventually, exhaustion trumped the anxiety, and her eyes slid closed.

_Blood. Blood and pain and a heartbeat thumping in her ears. Burning in her gut. Burning agony in her gut. Everything was spinning and she could barely hear anything through the beats of her heart in her head. There was blood seeping between her fingers. Everything hurt and everything spun and everything sounded like it was coming through water and−_

_She could feel herself_ dying.

_Her consciousness slipping, her pulse slowing, her limbs refusing to do what they needed to− her senses fading. Her vision going black. There were hands on her shoulders but it felt wrong, too little sensation for such a firm grip. Distant. Wrong. Fading away and−_

Her eyes snapped open.

She was already hyperventilating, her whole body curled up into a tight ball as her chest heaved at the centre of it. Fingers wound into her hair, tugging at the roots, clawing at her scalp. The shaved texture that usually calmed her, sent pleasant tingles through her fingers, instead felt like pinpricks. The beeping of the monitor felt like it was burrowing into her skull. Her own frantic breathing felt like it was smothering her, loud and unforgiving and overwhelming and−

Natasha nearly died. Natasha nearly _died._

And she knew, now; knew why it bothered her so much more than before. Beyond the lack of emotional permanence, beyond how every time felt like the worst− this was the first time one of them had nearly died since the invasion; since that tomahawk tore through her gut on its way to Natasha; since her unit failed her and failed Tasha and nearly killed her, nearly made her leave Tasha alone. Every injury since then had been minor, easy to handle themselves; nothing had ever been immediately _life-threatening._

They’d taken that for granted.

How many missions had they run since becoming mercenaries, without a team at their back; without guaranteed extraction; without truly considering the risks? This wasn’t like the Project where, despite everything, you had a ship to go back to with an extensive medical wing that could have you back on your feet in the fraction of the normal time. This was being on the run, with nothing more than a Pelican and some basic medical supplies on hand; this was taking months to recover from an injury that the Project would have righted in weeks. This was being unable to go to hospitals, because even without the anniversary looming on the horizon, it would come with the risk of being cornered, being captured.

With every thought, her fingers dug into her scalp. Pinpricks of hair prickled against her skin. Shaking breaths filled her ears, but no other noise escaped her. Squeezing her eyes closed, the force scrunched her face. Everything was too much, too loud or too− too− too _much_ against her skin. Her every nerve was alight with sensations that were just a little too much, a little too intense, a little too _everything_ and−

Natasha had nearly died, today.

What had stopped that from happening before? What would stop that from happening again?

How much of their survival so far had been based on sheer, dumb, luck?

And what did that mean for their friends’ chances?


	11. Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I have to say in advance of this is I am sorry, and heed the warnings

“Tasha, stop squirming! You have to work with me here!”

“I’m not _squirming_.”

“You are _too_ squirming!”

South huffed, went to ruffle Connie’s hair and immediately regretted the decision when moving her arm from around her shoulders almost sent her toppling backwards. She probably deserved the look that it earned her, if she was honest; she made sure to give her an apologetic one in return.

When she finally stopped squirming, Connie managed to get her settled on the bed. Slipping her arm from around her she let her rest back against the stack of pillows, keeping her comfortably upright and preventing her from slipping too far back. Her shoulder was still supported by the collar and cuff, bandages still covering the wound itself.

Tilki had been true to her word; they’d had one night and one night only in the hospital. Before they’d left she had explained to Connie how best to take care of South’s injury and given her some more suitable medical supplies to take with them, but as soon as she was done she had sent them on their way. Connie wasn’t surprised. The decision to take someone hostage hadn’t been a decision she’d made lightly, and she found herself grateful that Tilki had even helped them as much as she did.

“Are we _really_ going to have to do this shit every fucking time I need to get up for something? Like, seriously?”

“Yes, because you’re still shaky on your feet because of blood loss and the painkillers and I’m not going to let you fall and hurt yourself,” Connie said, kissing her forehead. “I know it’s annoying, but it’s for your sake, Tasha.”

“ _Ugh,_ ” was South’s dignified response, which would certainly have been accompanied by crossing her arms had she been able. “Fucking _ugh._ ”

“Expressive,” Connie said, hip cocked.

“Thanks, I try,” South retorted, face deadpan. “But seriously, Connie! This is ridiculous! I shouldn’t even be stuck in bed in the fucking first place!”

“Tasha, you nearly _died_. You should still be in _hospital_ , the only reason you aren’t is because it’s not safe.” She clambered onto her side of the bed, knelt next to South and reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You need to rest, and let that arm start to heal.”

“I hear your point and raise you: I should be fucking _up_ and _moving_ and helping around the ship and doing _jobs_ , Connie! Jobs! You know, the things keeping us fed and with fuel and shit?”

Connie raised a brow. “You’re not the only one who can run jobs, Tasha. I’m perfectly capable, and most of the programs I use when running recon are completely user-friendly.” She tapped South’s nose, laughed as she frowned, “And _anyway_ , we won’t even have to run many big jobs. I can do more programming and hacking, that’ll be more than enough for us to get by for a few weeks.”

“I _guess_.” She rolled her eyes, exaggerated so Connie knew it was joking. “How fucking long am I stuck in this fucking thing again?”

“Six weeks.”

“ _Motherfucker._ ”

“It’ll go by quicker than you think,” Connie said, stretching up and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. Her thumb stroked over her cheekbone. “Love you, Tasha.”

“Yeah yeah, love you too, you big fusser.” Wrapping her good hand around the back of Connie’s head, she brought her back for another, longer kiss. Connie sighed contently, leant into it−still careful not to jostle her shoulder−and teased her lower lip between her teeth. When that earned a whine, she pulled back with a cheeky grin. “Okay now that’s just fucking cruel, babe, _cruel._ Is this you getting me back for teasing you when you were injured, huh? Is this your payback?”

“ _May_ be.” Connie grinned, bumping their noses together. Spinning around, she slid off the bed. “I’ll go make dinner.”

South huffed, planting her hand against the mattress and pushing herself up, “Babe, c’mon, I can at least help with− _whoa_ −” Her head spun and she groaned, slumping back. “ _Okay_ , maybe I can’t.”

“Told you so.”

“Oh, shut up.”

With another huff, she let her full weight press her back into the pillows. Guess she had to resign herself to being stuck in bed, great. At least, she figured, this part would pass quickly; it was the part after, the being stuck on the ship, being unable to even _train_ to stop herself getting restless, that she was dreading most.

Six weeks in a sling, and god knows how long after recovering.

This was going to be fucking _rough._

 

South groaned, throwing her good arm across her face dramatically, “I’m _bored_.”

“I know. You’ve told me at _least_ twenty times in the past half hour.”

“Yeah. Because I’m fucking _bored_.”

“There are plenty of things you could be doing, Tasha,” Connie said, glancing back over her shoulder. South was slumped against the pillows in loose PJ shorts and a tank top, arm still in that collar and cuff−as it would be for another four and a half weeks. “There’s plenty of things to read on one of the data-pads, or listen to. Videos, games, the whole internet at your fingertips.”

“What if I don’t _wanna_ do any of those things?”

She was pouting now, lower lip jutted out almost comically. Connie raised a brow, as if there hadn’t been a smile tugging at her lips.

“Well then, I guess you’re stuck being _bored_ ,” Connie teased, mimicking South’s emphasis. South pouted for just a moment longer, holding Connie’s attention− and then stuck her tongue out. “Mature.”

“I’m _very_ mature,” South said, pushing herself up from the pillows. Her arm snaked around Connie’s waist, chest pressing up against her back as she buried her face in her shoulder. “Mm, whatcha doing?”

“Oh, uh−” South peeped up over her shoulder just in time to see a new window open, covering up whatever Connie had been doing. “Working on another program for a client.”

“Nope. I fucking saw that sneaky like, switcheroo. What the fuck are you _actually_ doing?” She said, lips tickling Connie’s skin where her shirt slipped off her shoulder. She could almost hear the way Connie bit her lip before she sighed, minimising the new window to reveal a familiar screen. “Ohhh. Database. Isn’t that like, the sixth day in a row, babe?”

“I− the seventh, actually?” Connie said, a note of nervousness in her voice. “I only ah, didn’t look the first two days we got back?”

“Babe.”

“I _know_.”

“What are you expecting to change in a couple days that doesn’t usually change in like, a fucking week, babe?” Nuzzling against her neck, she pressed a gentle kiss to the spot right behind Connie’s ear. Connie sighed, leaned back against her. Worrying her lip between her teeth, she took a moment to consider what she wanted to say; South remained mercifully patient with her, as she always did.

“I don’t think I’m expecting anything to change,” She said finally. Her finger dragged across the trackpad, pulling the cursor over the list of names and statuses that had become a constant in their lives. Every week, she checked. Every week, nothing changed. “Actually, I don’t _want_ anything to change right now, I’d rather it stayed the same.”

South’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because if it doesn’t change at all, that means−” a pause, an exhale, “that means there’s still a chance they’re okay.”

She cast her eyes down the list, unchanged since that first time she’d looked months ago now−

_Agent Carolina: MIA. Agent Connecticut: MIA._

_Agent Florida: AWOL. Agent Maine: MIA._

_Agent New York: AWOL. Agent North Dakota: AWOL._

_Agent South Dakota: MIA. Agent Texas: UNKNOWN._

_Agent Washington: MIA. Agent Wyoming: AWOL._

“MIA, AWOL− that means they’re still running, like us. If it changes, it changes to DET, or KIA− and that just means it’s over, that they’re captured or _dead_.” The word struck the room down with a heavy silence. The arm around Connie’s waist tightened, her smaller fingers slipping down to interlink with South’s. “We’ve been looking at the information this gives us all wrong; it can’t ever tell us that they’re okay but… it can tell us that they’re not confirmed dead, or captured.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hot breath ghosted over the shell of Connie’s ear. “That makes sense. But why _now_ , babe?”

She squeezed her hand. “Let’s just say you nearly dying was a bit of a reality check for me.”

“Hey, I’m _fine_.” Her lips followed in the wake of her breath, sending tingles across Connie’s skin. “Bored as dicks, but fucking _fine_. Gonna take more than that to get rid of me, babe, don’t you fuckin’ worry your cute butt about it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Connie said. Fingers intertwined, she brushed her thumb over the creases of her knuckles. “But it got me thinking−” (“Dangerous.”) “−and I just needed to put my mind at ease.”

“Mmhm,” South murmured, nuzzling against the side of her head. “You’ll keep me updated as always, right?” It hadn’t been on her mind as much lately−the list−but she’d be lying if she said she’d stopped worrying. When she’d been slipping in and out of consciousness from pain and blood loss, when there were moments she had thought that she could actually die there in that hospital, her mind had taken her back to one of those missions where she’d been injured. When her team had done everything to get her back to the ship, get her out of there.

They all cared about each other, even at the end. No matter how they acted, sometimes.

Kissing the side of her head once more, South sat up and let her chin rest the top of it. She was warm in her arms, her back pressed against South’s chest and their fingers linked together. Comforting, for the both of them. South’s eyed slid shut.

“Of course,” Connie said, tilting her head back to kiss her jaw. “ _But_ , I _do_ actually have a job to work on. I wasn’t telling a complete lie.”

“What, so you’re not gonna smother me in attention?”

“Not yet. Later, promise.”

“I’m gonna fucking hold you to that.”

“I’d expect no less.”

 

“Connie, can I _please_ like− fucking train or _something_?”

“Tasha, you know you can’t.”

“But _Connie_ , I’m restless as fuck! There’s gotta be _something_ I could do!”

“Nothing that wouldn’t put you at risk of jerking your shoulder. No, Tasha. Three more weeks.”

“ _Ugh._ ”

 

Adjusting the pillows behind her for the perhaps hundredth time since settling down, South huffed. It was coming close to half an hour of her watching Connie move through maintenance shafts toward the target, and she was finding it difficult to remain patient. All she had to do was hit set key combinations to change cameras; open shaft doors; and disable potential obstacles. Everything was laid out for her, Connie had made sure that she knew exactly what she had to do before she left.

In other words, it was boring as fuck.

“I don’t know how the fuck you can stand doing this recon shit,” She said, breaking the quiet that she’d agreed to _try_ and keep up but had made no promises of success. “I really fucking don’t, this is terrible.”

“ _Because I enjoy the work involved in recon work, Nemesis. You don’t. But you insisted you’d be able to handle it for this job_ ,” Connie replied, turning another corner and forcing South to switch cameras once again. “ _It’s not going to take long now._ ”

“You said that like, ten minutes go.”

“ _Once I’ve gotten in and taken the intel, I’ll be out and back to the ship in no more than ten minutes. I’m five minutes tops away from the target. You can handle waiting about twenty minutes more, can’t you Nemesis?_ ”

South huffed, “Maybe.”

“ _Nemesis_.” There was a sing-song note to her voice, and her helmet turned towards the camera ahead of her. The night-vision of the cameras made her helmet’s eyes light up like some wild animal− it was creepy as fuck honestly. “ _Twenty minutes, and then I’ll be back and we can cuddle up and watch a movie._ ”

“Fine, guess I can handle twenty fucking minutes,” South said, moving onto the next camera. “Next shaft is like, ten metres up ahead. Last one before the fucking target room.”

“ _Copy that, Nemesis._ ”

Two key strikes later, the door was open and Connie was down to crawling along the ground for the last stretch. All of the maintenance tunnels connected to one central maintenance hub where they would find the terminal storing the information their target wanted. Even if South hadn’t been injured, the tunnels were only just tall enough for Connie to walk in whilst barely crouching and there was no way South could ever have run the job. Normally they’d never have taken it, but even Connie got a little burned out on the same programming jobs over and over eventually.

“ _At the exit panel. Ready to be my eyes?_ ”

Two more key strikes, the door unsealed. “Yep, go ahead babe I’m watching your back.”

Connie scrambled out of the tunnel with a grace that few could manage when pulling themself out of a tiny maintenance shaft. The hub wasn’t big by any means, and the shaft she exited came out right behind the terminal. Two steps forward and her hands were dancing across the keyboard, slipping past the password protection and opening the system. In went the drive, and the download started.

“ _Am I clear?_ ” Connie asked. South flicked through the nearby cameras, checking the other tunnels, halls and other connecting rooms− no one about.

“You’re clear. No one’s within like, a hundred metres of your location right now,” She said, turning away from the screen to adjust her pillows again. They kept _slipping_. “Exit route is clear, I think.”

“ _You think?_ ”

“Fidgeting, gimme a sec.” She shuffled around, finally getting comfortable and returning her attention to the cameras. Exit route−a tunnel accessible only from the hub that opened up into the rearmost room in the building−was clear. There were guards at the back door, but Connie had set up something she could use to cause a distraction. “Yeah, totally fucking clear. Sorry babe.”

“ _If we do this again, I’m lending you some of my stimming aids._ ” The transfer percentage climbed. “ _You’re so restless._ ”

“I’ve been stuck in the fucking Pelican for like three fucking weeks of _course_ I’m fucking restless.” Huffing, she slumped back against the pillows. Great, she’d have to adjust them again now. There was no hostility in her tone, just a brand of anger that Connie had learned was never directed at her. “How far’s the transfer?”

“ _81%. Climbing quick,_ ” Connie said. “ _How about we stop over in the nearby town? No bustling city, probably no news to bother us, just somewhere to get you some fresh air and go on a date._ ”

A grin tugged at her lips. “Huh. I like the sound of that. Heh, maybe we can even catch a film. Still do that movie.”

“ _I think we can manage that. Transfer complete._ ” Snatching the drive from the terminal, she turned to the exit shaft; two quick taps from South and it unsealed. “ _Well then, Nemesis, I guess I’m taking you on a date._ ”

“Fuck yeah you are. Pick me up in 10, don’t be fuckin’ late.”

Connie’s grin was evident in her voice, “ _Wouldn’t dream of it._ ”

 

“ _Connnnie_ , my love, my everything−”

“You can’t train, you still have over a week left in the sling.”

“…Worth a shot?”

 

“This is absolutely going to end up hurting your shoulder and I have no idea why I gave in,” Connie said, her words briefly muffled as she dragged her shirt over her head. Tossing it to the side, she shook out her hair. Beneath her, South grinned.

“Because I’m fucking irresistible, _obviously_ ,” She teased in return, her good hand rubbing circles on Connie’s hip. She still had her panties on, but she knew that wouldn’t be the case for long; she let her thumb dip a little below the waistband.

Connie rolled her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear as she leant over to kiss her. “You’re teasing, but that’s honestly the answer.”

“Now _you’re_ fucking teasing.”

“Nope,” She let her lips pop on the p, caught South’s bottom lip with her teeth. “You’re _gorgeous_.” Her hands slipped beneath her shirt, nails dragging over her skin and leaving tingles in their wake. The shirt bunched up around her wrists, followed as she drew her hands up as far as South’s breasts. “Your muscles, your curves, your eyes, your lips− that ridiculously gay haircut. All gorgeous.”

As annoyed as South tried to look, the flush in her cheeks betrayed her. “Oh− shut up and fuck me.”

“I will once I can figure out _how_ without jolting that arm,” Connie said. One hand slipped away from her chest, down to playfully smack at her butt. “I’d take that shirt off all the way but that’s such _fuss_ with that sling.”

“Babe it’s not that complicated. Come up here, sit on my damn face, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

Connie grinned. “So _forward_.” Already she was shedding her panties, clambering over her, as careful as she could be to avoid knocking her shoulder. South was more than happy to help, steadying her with her good arm and kissing her thigh as she got herself settled.

“What can I say, babe, it’s part of my charm.”

They figured it out from there. Fumbling, fussing, fretting abound− but they’d never been anything less than adaptable; Connie had never been anything less than a careful dominant; and South had never been anything less than faultlessly trusting in Connie’s control.

“Told you we’d figure it out.”

“Shush.”

 

“Connie−”

“No.”

“I didn’t ask anything yet!”

“Maybe you didn’t. But I know you, and I know you were going to ask if you could train.”

An exaggerated gasp. “Was _not_. I can’t believe you’d ever suggest such a−”

“Natasha. Three days.”

“…Fine _._ ”

 

The six week mark came and went, and South was finally allowed to remove the collar and cuff permanently. After over a month of immobility and with the damage done, her shoulder was sore and stiff and lacked any range of movement without discomfort. Whilst Dr. Tilki had given them some basic physio instructions−suggested exercises and the like−they had no physiotherapist to look at South’s shoulder and figure out what would work for her, and definitely no idea themselves. It would all be a matter of research, best guesses, trial and error− and hoping that they didn’t do more harm than good.

“You’re getting your range of motion back, slowly,” Connie said, carefully manipulating South’s shoulder and watching her face closely. There was a slight grimace, but nothing severe.

“Wish it’d come back fucking quicker. This is almost as annoying as the fucking sling,” South said. When Connie let go, she slowly rolled the joint. To her, it felt as stiff as ever. Sure, it had only been a couple of weeks, but she was hoping she’d have seen _some_ result of these damn exercises by now. Something more substantial, quantifiable. “Nothing’s fucking happening.”

“It’s going to take time, Tasha.” A kiss pressed to her forehead, and then to the scar tissue marking the entry wound. It was weird how soothing that was, how it made the tension she held in her shoulders melt away. “But it’s working, I’ve seen the improvement myself. We’re getting there.”

“I guess.” She didn’t see the improvement. Maybe she could move with a little less discomfort, maybe it wasn’t quite as immobile as it had once been− _maybe_ , but it was so fucking _minor_ a change that it barely registered. It had been over eight weeks since that damn scientist had shot her, eight weeks of being absolutely _useless_ and contributing nothing to their work. She was _tired_ of it. “Really makes you realise you took the Project’s resources for granted, huh?”

“We’re getting by?” Connie said, the hesitance in her tone obvious. When South raised a brow, she sighed. “…Yeah. I’ve− thought about that a lot, actually.”

“I should be fucking _helping_ , I should be running jobs and doing shit around the ship! Instead I’m fucking stretching my arm with a fucking towel or a stick or a wall multiple times a day and not doing _shit_ ,” South said. Standing up, she rolled her shoulder again with a huff. “I shoulda checked the asshole for weapons, but no, I got fucking cocky and now here I fucking am with a fucky shoulder, useless as fuck.”

“You’re not useless, Tasha. You’re injured, in our line of work that’s going to happen occasionally.” A hand brushed down her forearm, caught her hand and squeezed gently; South let the tension fall back away. “Even if that thought scares me half to death.”

“It’s fucking bullshit is what it is. I shoulda fucking known better.”

Another gentle squeeze. “Well, now you know for next time. You learn from your mistakes, Tasha. I’ve rarely known you to make the same mistake twice.”

“I guess,” South sighed, returning the squeeze. Her shoulder throbbed. “You make a mistake once and get out alive. Make the mistake a second fucking time, and you fucking die or, get someone _else_ killed. Guess that’s always been something I’ve stood by.”

“Exactly.” Connie stretched up on her tip toes, pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. Her nose crinkled, face scrunching up, and Connie lit up with a smile. “ _Scrunch_.”

“ _Scrunch_ ,” South repeated, feeling a smile tugging at her lips too despite it all. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“I know you are but what am I?”

South stared her down, which only served to make her smile become a grin and make her start giggling. “Really. What are we, five? You’re terrible, Connie. You’re killing your girlfriend.”

“Love you Tasha,” was Connie’s sing-song reply, before she was consumed by more giggles. South rolled her eyes, dragged her back in for a proper kiss.

“Love you too, Connie. You little shit. C’mere, I’m gonna smother you in kisses.”

“Oh _no_.”

“Oh _yes_ , c’mere.”

 

Before they knew it, just over two and a half months had passed since South’s injury.

Weeks of restlessness; weeks of healing and physiotherapy that, even now, were far from over; weeks of barely ever leaving the ship. After the first six weeks had passed and South’s sling had been removed, it had become hard to keep track of time. No active jobs, no need to go planetside− the world passed them by as they recovered, self-sufficient enough by now that they barely noticed the time go by.

But eventually, their supplies began to run low.

“Fresh air, at fucking _last_ ,” South said. She stepped out of the Pelican with her arms spread wide, turning to walk backwards so she could look at Connie. Her injured arm sagged a little in comparison to the other. “It’s been _way_ too fucking long since we’ve gone planetside, holy fuck. When was the last time? That date before I even had my fucking sling off?”

“Probably,” Connie said, hopping down off the side of the ramp. Once South stepped off, she closed the bay door. “Wait, no, we landed briefly for that one drop-off.”

“That hardly fucking counts.” Offering her hand to Connie, she waited until their fingers were intertwined to start walking. “We were on the ground for like, half an hour.”

“Fair point.”

Another market district, another supply run full of haggling and searching for obscure supplies. There was a buzz in the air, some sort of excitement that jumped between people in bursts of conversation as they passed them by. It was hard to catch what it was about, amidst the bustle of the marketplace and the noise; snippets of conversations went by too quickly to truly hear, too disjointed to put any of the pieces together.

“…a whole _year_ …”

“…can you believe it?”

“…I heard that…”

“…a year, and only now…”

“…are you sure?”

“…just rumours, surely…”

The more they heard, the more uneasy South felt. She could see it in Connie, too, the way she started to pick at that scar on her palm and only stopped when South took that hand instead, the way she worried her lip between her teeth. They were missing something; something important. She could feel it.

Only when they reached the square at the centre of the market, when they saw the display on the central screen, did things start to click into place.

“…Oh.”

[11 / 18 / 2551 | 12:04] _…A YEAR SINCE THE COLLAPSE OF UNSC FUNDED PROJECT FREELANCER…_

A lump rose in South’s throat. “It’s been a year.”

“A year and eight days, if we’re being picky,” Connie said, her gaze fixed rigidly on the screen, followed the scrolling text. “I didn’t even realise. A _year_. A− A whole _year_ since− That’s what they’re all talking about. The _annivers− ary…_ ” She trailed off, her eyes widening as the text scrolled further and−

[11 / 18 / 2551 | 12:05] _…FREELANCER ONE AGENT IS RUMOURED TO HAVE BEEN APPREHENDED A…_

Alarmed eyes met. Oh _no_.

Getting back through the marketplace took a fraction of the time it took on the way there, frantic pushing and shoving and dodging past people and stalls and carts letting them cover more ground. No stopping at stalls. Any angry victims of their shoving were ignored. Mere minutes after they started back they broke away from the crowds into emptier streets, alleys and side-roads where they could break into a full run. The ship wasn’t far from town.

It took barely fifteen minutes total to arrive at the Pelican.

The bay couldn’t open fast enough.

South’s bag hit the bed and careened off onto the floor, “I thought you were checking the database like, _daily_?! How the fuck did we miss this?!”

“I haven’t checked in over a week, Natasha! I− It slipped my mind, I had so much to do for clients that I just− I didn’t−” A frustrated noise escaped her as she fumbled with the PC; her fingers tapped rapidly against the plastic, anxious, impatient. “Come on, come on…”

Finally it loaded up. Connie started working her way into the database.

“Can you like, do it faster?”

“I’m going as fast as I can without risking alerting them to my presence, Tasha.”

South muffled a frustrated groan in her hands, fists tugging at her hair as she started to pace in circles, around and around and−

“Okay, okay, I’m in.”

Any other time, South would have teased her for sounding like a Hollywood hacker. Not now. No, right now her chest was tight and she wanted to _hit_ something, feel an impact against her fists and−

A sharp intake of breath cut through her thoughts.

“What? What does it say?”

Connie’s eyes were wide, staring at the screen in front of her as her fingers tapped frantically against the PC, no rhythm, no consistency, nothing calming about it and yet stopping wasn’t an option and−

“It’s− It says−” Her voice cracked. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap− “It− It says that−”

“Oh− give it here,” South huffed, tearing the PC from Connie’s hands, spinning it around so she could see the screen. The same list of names that she’d seen a thousand times greeted her and her eyes scanned across every one, one by one−

_Agent Carolina: MIA._

_Agent Connecticut: MIA._

_Agent Florida: AWOL._

_Agent Maine: MIA._

_Agent New York: AWOL._

_Agent North Dakota−_

She nearly dropped the PC.

No.

No no no no _no−_

_Agent North Dakota: KIA._


	12. Move On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening, ‘My Fault’ by Imagine Dragons.

“No. No no no _no_ that’s _wrong_ that’s− that has to be _wrong!_ ”

“Tasha−”

South didn’t stop, didn’t even pause, “Fucking− refresh it or− or _something!_ It’s wrong! It’s gotta be fucking _wrong_ that news report said someone was fucking _arrested_ not fucking− fucking−” No, she wouldn’t say the word, because it wasn’t _true_. He wasn’t− Nikolai wasn’t−

“Tasha, please…” Connie’s voice was strained, tied up in the sobs she was trying so hard to suppress. “Refreshing it… refreshing it won’t change anything. It’s− it’s real, Tasha. Believe me, if I could change it−”

“But it only fucking said someone had been _caught!_ ” South snapped, punctuating her words by slamming a foot into the nearest arms crate and sending it flying across the bay. It came to a stop against the opposite wall with a sharp crash, denting the metal. Connie flinched, barely choked back a sob before it could escape. She wasn’t angry at her. She wasn’t angry at her. She wasn’t angry at her− “He can’t be− Nik _can’t_ be− he’s not fucking _gone_ , Connie! He’s not! He _can’t_ be!”

“I-I’m looking right at the mission report about his d-death, Tasha!” It came out so much sharper than she intended. She curled in on herself. A hand dragged down her face. “Please, Tasha… I-I don’t want this to be true any more than you do… but−”

“But _what?!_ ” She didn’t mean to keep snapping at Connie. Why did she keep snapping at Connie? “But fucking _what_ , Connie?!”

“But the UNSC aren’t just going to release all of their information to the media! They’re already offering up _so much_ , Natasha, can’t you see that? The fact that they’re telling people about Freelancer at all is all this− this big _show!_ If they’re seemingly open about this big investigation then people stop looking deeper, they start to put trust in the UNSC again! They’re letting on _just enough_ for this big fat lie about transparency to _work!_ If they killed an agent instead of taking them in after making such a big _fucking fuss_ about finding out ‘the truth!’ then they’re not going to tell the media that!” Connie said, pushing up to her knees. Salty tears burned her eyes, welling up despite all of her efforts to stop them. “I-I don’t want this to be true, N-Natasha, but pretending− pretending it isn’t−”

“Shut _UP!_ Shut the _FUCK up!_ ”

Silence.

Connie’s mouth hung open, hanging on the syllables that the biting words had cut off in an instant. Tears spilled down her cheeks without a sound, left wet trails in their wake and ran into her open mouth, off her jaw.

South’s chest heaved with shaking, angry breaths− but her muscles relaxed, her eyes widened, realisation settling into every part of her. When she tried to speak the words died in the back of her throat, coming out as half-formed sounds. Until, at least, the first sob came from Connie and−

“I’m sorry. I’m− I’m so fucking sorry I− fuck. _Fuck._ ” Taking a step back, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I-I− I need to− I’m gonna go−”

Without another word, she stormed into the cockpit and slammed her fist against the lock. It sealed shut behind her, and she was alone.

Her back hit the door.

Why did she yell at Connie? Why did she take it out on _Connie?_ It wasn’t her fault, she _knew_ it wasn’t her fault, she knew she was just trying to _help_. But she still _snapped_ , again and again she _snapped_. She wasn’t angry at Connie, she wasn’t! She was just− just−

Angry. Hurt. Something _else_ she couldn’t put her finger on because it wasn’t grief, it couldn’t be grief, because Nikolai wasn’t− he wasn’t−

He _couldn’t_ be.

He was her brother, her _identical twin brother._ Never in all their lives had they been this far apart for so long, no contact, no _nothing_ − the gaping hole had been there for months, the urge to turn to him whenever a smartass comment came to mind or she somehow expected his input. He’d always been there and she’d _resented_ that, she’d resented his constant looming presence and patronising tendencies and the way he _babied_ her as if she couldn’t look after herself. Yet, despite all of his patronising, despite all of her biting, despite the way their jabs had become hurtful and targeted instead of shallow and playful− despite _all_ of that, she _missed_ him.

Nikolai was a constant.

And now there was this feeling of _emptiness_ , this hollowness in her gut.

But he couldn’t be− he _couldn’t_ −

That feeling bubbled up in her chest, tight and constricted and trying to force its way out through clenched fists and gritted teeth and the urge to _hit_ something, feel an impact against her fists and−

A frustrated _scream_ tore up her throat and her fist slammed into the wall.

 

There were no holes in the report.

Connie sniffled, swiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist. Tears kept welling up, distorting her view of the screen. She’d read it twice now, but she started over again, just in case. In case _something_ in it didn’t add up; in case there was any hint that it was falsified; in case there was _any_ chance that North wasn’t dead.

But there were no holes in the report.

North had been found mere days ago after a tip off to the UNSC about a potential sighting of a Freelancer in dark purple armour, traced back to an abandoned warehouse on a colony not far from the MOI’s last known location before the fall. He’d been spotted entering the building and a UNSC stakeout had caught sight of him moving around inside, confirming the sighting. When a squad of soldiers had followed up in the early hours, they were greeted by North’s expert marksmanship. Three soldiers went down in seconds, another two before they spotted him set up in the upstairs window.

Either he’d known they were coming, or he’d been extremely quick to act. Both options were possible. North was good at what he did and would have had no problems setting up in mere minutes under pressure, and had he noticed the stakeout team he would have known it was fruitless to run now they’d got him surrounded.

He’d taken out ten soldiers total before someone made it to the building. From there, the report lost detail, but remained steady: multiple soldiers entered the building, three more were taken out by North’s sharpshooting before they made it up the stairs, and the rest had finally breached the upper floor when− _something_ happened, and the building blew. Chatter on the radios before the blast suggested that someone had hit a tripwire, a trap that had set off the explosion.

Connie had almost considered that _the_ hole, the linchpin that when it was pulled out made the whole story fall apart. At least, until she read the rest.

The crumbled structure wasn’t safe to enter, as of the day the report was filed, but scans of the rubble had revealed North’s armour− no life signs, and most importantly? No sign of the AI Unit designated Theta.

He didn’t have Theta with him. Either he’d sent him somewhere, or he’d been taken, or _something_ − but without Theta to watch his back, without Theta to _protect_ , it suddenly became much less unbelievable that North would have resorted to setting haphazard traps to catch anyone after him unawares.

So no, there were no holes in the report.

North was dead.

After she’d read it for the fifth time, examined every detail for a missing piece, for something phrased in an unusual way, for _any_ sign of an internal cover up to match the public one, she forced herself to stop. The PC lid closed with a sharp snap. She withdrew into herself, her knees tugged up towards her chest and trapping the PC there as she started to rock. Back and forth and back and forth and−

North was _dead_.

North, the sharpshooter, the best shot of them all. North, the man who faced missions with a collectedness about him even as he tore through enemy soldiers like they were nothing. North, who had always had everyone’s back−no matter how patronising he could be. North who Connie hadn’t considered for a moment would actually die.

She’d never truly thought anyone would actually _die_ , not _really_. As aware as she was of the chance, as much as she had worried, as often as she checked the database− she’d never applied that fear to individual people, she couldn’t.

But North was dead.

And now all she could think about was what that meant for everyone else.

She fell back against the mattress, the PC sliding away and landing beside her. Everything felt… far away. It was like everything beyond her body just… wasn’t there, like it didn’t register. Her senses withdrew their boundaries, isolating her there as she lay staring at the grey metal ceiling above her. Even that didn’t seem real. Feeling tears well up in her eyes, she curled into a foetal position.

AWOL. MIA. The classifications that she’d been clinging to as some kind of hope that they were still okay, that she’d considered a sort of limbo but always leaning towards the possibility that they were _alive_.

But it had always also meant that they could be dead.

AWOL, MIA, they meant someone was _missing._ All it confirmed was that someone hadn’t been _found_ dead, hadn’t been captured. It didn’t mean that they weren’t dead, that they hadn’t died without anyone _knowing_. Maine, Wash, Carolina− MIA, hadn’t been seen leaving the ship. York, Florida, Wyoming− caught on cameras escaping, like North. Any of them could be dead somewhere, without anyone to find them or just another Doe in a morgue on some colony.

What if they were all _dead_?

What if she and Natasha were the only ones left?

What if her actions, her reckless trust, her refusal to let things lie, had ended up getting all of their friends _killed?_

Tears spilled over, ran down her cheeks in thick streams that pooled where her cheek pressed against the mattress and soaked the sheets. There were no sobs, no whimpers, no sound at all; her lips barely trembled, her eyes screwed shut, her chest rose and fell in deep, shuddering breaths. Her perception of what existed tightened further, until the tips of her fingers and toes barely felt like they belonged to her.

If she’d just kept her nose out of it, if she’d just waited it out, if she’d just been able to let things go for for once in her damn life then none of this would have happened. Jarrett would never have lead his team on a full-scale invasion of the _Mother of Invention_ , they never would have had to scatter, and they never would have been forced to run from the UNSC.

She just wanted to do the right thing. Instead, all she did was hurt the people she cared about.

Natasha had every right to be angry at her. Had every right to _hate_ her. Her brother was dead, and it was all her fault.

Natasha should hate her.

This was all her fault.

All her fault.

Her fault.

 _Hers_.

That thought ran circles in her mind, quiet at first but building up into an all-consuming cacophony of self-hate that swirled around and around with no sign of stopping. She barely felt the nails digging into her scalp, or catching at that old scar on her hand until there was blood staining her fingers, in her hair. Every sensation was dulled, distant, wrong. Everything was _wrong_. The world beyond her, beyond the limits of her body and beyond the edges of the bed, was disconnected from her sense of reality.

In that bubble, there was no sense of time.

When the crashing of thunder outside finally broke through the haze, gave her something to latch onto and drag herself up, she had no idea how much time had passed. Her eyes were sore and she could feel the dried trails of tears on her cheeks. When she looked at her hands she saw the blood under her nails.

Another crash made her jump, clutch her hand to her chest.

Right, thunder. A storm.

A frown on her face, she slipped off of the bed. Sock clad feet against the cold metal floor she stood up, steady on her feet but feeling like her legs shouldn’t be able to support her. Everything was still a little hazy. Her body didn’t quite feel like her own.

By the time she reached the bay doors, the sound of rain against the hull of the ship had broken through the post-meltdown fuzz. The mechanical whirring of the locking mechanism was jarring in comparison and Connie flinched as the door opened. It caused a splash when it hit the ground, fresh air rushing into the bay as Connie took in the sight of the heavy rain.

She took a tentative step out onto the ramp, flinching and withdrawing her foot slightly at the first drop of water to touch her. The next step was more confident, she didn’t flinch at the rain and she didn’t hesitate to walk down the ramp until she was firmly on the ground.

They hadn’t been planetside during the rain a lot. Trips groundside were usually short, meant only for supply runs or missions, never lasting more than a week. Most of their time was spent in orbit or open space. Connie couldn’t remember the last time she stood in the rain, watched the raindrops cause ripples in puddles or drip off her fingertips. She’d always found it refreshing.

One of her mothers had always said that rain was a sort of cleansing thing, that it rejuvenated the natural world and washed away some of the filth left by people. Sometimes she’d say that it cleansed the soul, too, but Connie had never been one for those kinds of things. It had always seemed a sentimental thing, and as a child Connie had been more fussed about the way rain felt against her skin and the way splashing in puddles sent a buzz of energy through her than anything more meaningful. But now, she tried to place a little weight behind that feeling.

It was worth a try.

…She wondered what her mothers were doing now.

When she heard the sound of splashing behind her, she was watching the raindrops fall from the tips of her fingers.

South looked… Connie didn’t have the words for it, not right then and there. There was none of her usual attitude in the way she stood there, letting the rain soak her through just as thoroughly as she had. Her eyes were red and puffy, there were half-dried tear tracks down her cheeks. Her hair was a mess. She had bruised, cut, bleeding knuckles.

“Whatcha doing out here in the rain, silly?” Her voice was hoarse, but the corner of her lips quirked into a small smile. “You looking to get hit by lightning or something?”

Her response died in the back of her throat. Non-verbal. That was new.

South just shook her head, a hand on her hip. Somehow the way she did that looked… wrong. “Am I gonna have to come over there? Oh wait, even better−”

Puddle water splashed against her legs and Connie squeaked. South’s face split with a grin and she kicked more water at her, splashing through the biggest puddles and making Connie squeak and squeal and throw her arms up to defend herself against the onslaught. Finally, after a particularly vigorous splash hit her face, she retaliated by kicking water right back at her girlfriend. South made a face of mock offence, made sure to double down on her splashing efforts.

For a while they just splashed back and forth, laughing and squealing and dancing around each other as they sought out better puddles, dodged the other’s attacks. Somehow, as time went on, they got closer and closer until South’s arms looped around Connie’s waist, Connie grasped her arms, and they ended up in a lazy spin.

Around and around, puddles splashing around their feet and the rain pouring down on them without pause. Connie’s head dropped against South’s chest, her thumbs rubbing soft circles on her upper arms. South’s grip around her waist was grounding, familiar and spread warmth through her body despite the cold and the wet. She buried her face in her chest and took a deep breath. This was home.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of the rain.”

“Mm’kay.”

Two cups of cocoa and a big blanket later, they were sat on the top of the ramp with warm mugs in their hands and a warm blanket wrapped around both of their shoulders. Connie’s head lulled against South, her gaze on the rain as it continued to fall. Hot steam made her face flush, the pleasant warmth of the cocoa thawing her from the inside out. South had barely touched hers, grasping the mug tight in her hands. There was still blood on her knuckles.

A fingertip ran in circles around the bottom rim, around and around. The heat burned the skin, but South didn’t stop. Around and around.

“I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.” The words broke the silence that hung over them, as tense as they were. “I don’t know when it’s _gonna_ sink in. Nik− he’s always been there, y’know? Ever since we were fucking conceived we just− couldn’t get the fuck away from each other.” A dry laugh, a sip of her drink. “And I fucking _resented_ that, y’know? Being a twin fucking _sucked_ , everyone always found some way to shove us together. Never seemed to consider us as separate people. Mom would always dress us the same. The asshole expected us to do _everything_ the other one did. Always sucked, only got worse when I realised that we weren’t so identical after all. Y’know, I came out to Nik first. Called me his sister from that day on, only one that never once slipped up.”

Tears threatened to well in her eyes, and she swiped angrily at her face with the back of her hand. Connie tried to think of how to comfort her, but when the words wouldn’t come she just took her hand and squeezed. South’s grip tightened in return.

“Even then, it never stopped. Joined the army, ended up in the same squad, together. Beat up some asshole for bringing up our dad, together. Threatened with court-martial, together. Came to the Project, together. Got given the twin state names, together. Always, _always_ together. I just− wanted my own _fucking_ life, y’know? To be something other than ‘Nikolai’s sister’ or ‘North’s twin’ or− or− I wanted to be _me._ Natasha! South! My _name_ , not just a relationship tag tacked onto Nik’s!”

Connie’s voice was soft, gentle. “I know.”

South let her head fall against hers. “And then that fucking _dickhead_ , he− he _preyed_ on it, preyed on the way I felt about Nik, drove a big fuck off wedge between us and treated it like some fucking _test_ like− like some little _experiment_ to further his bullshit fucking ‘science’ and− and I _let it happen._ I fucking fell for it; hook, line and _fucking_ sinker. He made me hate my brother, Connie. I genuinely _hated_ him for a while. I-I’ve never split on Nik that hard before, Connie and− and I let that asshole get under my skin and−”

The grip on her hands tightened, and Connie shushed her gently. “You didn’t know. He was manipulating you, using your problems against you.”

“And it _worked_. I-I had to unpack so, much, _shit_ once you told me what was happening, Connie. A-And now he’s _dead!_ ” The word felt heavy, a big, thousand tonne weight toppling from the tip of her tongue. “He’s dead. I’ve spent my whole fucking life trying to find a way to get away from him, to have my own life, and now here I am, wondering how the _fuck_ I’m supposed to live in a world where my twin brother doesn’t exist.”

Her wrist swiped at her eyes again, and she cursed under her breath. Another sip of her drink gave her time to compose herself. Connie never let go of her hand.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how− how to _feel_. It almost feels like this is just some− some sick _joke_ , some shitty fucking dream,” She said. Lacing her fingers with Connie’s, she sighed. “I’m− I’m sorry I snapped. You didn’t deserve that. I wasn’t angry at you I was just− lashing out, because I couldn’t handle what you were saying. I fucked up. I _really_ fucked up.”

A lump rose in Connie’s throat. “It’s− it’s okay. I know.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

Instead of words, Connie set her drink down and carefully clambered onto South’s lap. There was the quiet rumble of a chuckle and South’s arms wrapped around her, tucked her against her chest. Safe, secure, surrounded. A warm, familiar presence in South’s arms, someone who had her back no matter what. Someone she’d protect with her life.

“I love you, Natasha. I’m here for you, I hope you know that.”

A kiss pressed to the top of her head. “Course I fucking do, I’m just a fucking mess. I love you too, Connie. So fucking much.”

Silence fell over them once more, not tense or uncomfortable, just− sad. Thunder rumbled overhead; rain drummed against the hull of their ship; there was the distant thrum of the city beneath the onslaught. They sat there, wrapped up together in the largest blanket they owned, with South’s fingers running through Connie’s hair and Connie’s fingers tracing spirals on South’s hip. There was no need for words, for now; so much had already been said, South had been the most open Connie had ever heard her be and the best she could offer her in return was her presence.

She just hoped that was enough.

“Connie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we stop checking the database?”

The question caught her off guard; Connie looked up at her with a furrowed brow, confusion in her eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know it just− it doesn’t seem fucking healthy anymore, Connie. Checking it day after day just to see if nothing’s changed? It’s not fucking healthy Connie, for either of us. We gotta− we gotta let _go_. Our lives have changed, we have enough to worry about with the UNSC and the bounty hunters constantly chasing our asses down. Constantly looking back it’s just− it’s just making us more fucking stressed out, Connie,” South said, sighing softly. She twirled a strand of Connie’s hair around her finger. “I don’t wanna know anymore. We gotta leave it behind.”

“But… everyone…”

“I still fucking care about everyone, Connie, but this isn’t helping. You said it yourself, all that list can do is tell us that they haven’t been caught or killed. No fucking good news comes from that thing.”

“I guess…”

“Please, Connie. I− after this…” She trailed off, buried her face in Connie’s hair.

Connie bit her lip, but despite her doubts, despite the niggling in the back of her mind−

“…Alright. We’ll− we’ll stop looking.”


	13. Life Goes On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re about at the half way mark! Now chapter 14 is going to be uploaded a day late, as on the tenth I’m one day from returning from holiday. It’ll go up whenever I get back.

Life went on.

They didn’t leave the colony for a few days after the news, taking the chance to have a break and some time to think. It was risky, but with the rainstorm showing no signs of letting up at all during their stay, they figured it was as safe a time as any. No one was out and about, most civilian ships were grounded due to the sheer force of the downpour− no one would be looking for fugitives here, not for now.

South, for her part, did her best to start processing what had happened; she’d always felt things more intensely, and this was no exception, but she made a conscious effort to confront it. Within a few hours of their talk, when they were fed and warm and feeling a little more themselves, she sat down with Connie and asked her to explain the report.

Connie frowned. “Are you sure you want to hear that, Tasha…?”

“Is it graphic?”

“Well, no, but−”

“Then yeah, I wanna hear it,” South said, leaning forwards on her arms. “You got to read it and poke for holes, so let me. I need to hear it for my-fucking-self.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

So Connie explained what the report had said. Kept an eye on South the entire time, watching for any sign of something wrong, but explained. Throughout South would interject, point out little things that didn’t sound quite like North−the fact he didn’t get out of there, the explosives, the recklessness−until further explanation covered each hole. When Connie suggested that North had left Theta somewhere she shook her head, cut her off.

“No way. Nik cared way too fucking much about that fucking lightbulb, wouldn’t even pull him to get some fucking sleep after fucking days of insomnia because of it. He wouldn’t leave Theta fucking anywhere. If Theta was gone, Theta was fucking _taken_.”

Connie had nodded, but there was a tense moment of silence after that.

Neither of them dared to think too hard about what an AI being stolen meant.

In the end, South had found no more holes in the report than Connie had and every single one could be explained by the unusual circumstances. Her denial confronted, though no doubt not fought away completely, South had retreated to the cockpit for a while. There was no shouting or screaming this time, no punching or kicking the wall, no locked door− she just needed time. Connie was always willing to give her that.

It had been almost a full day before she’d brought it up again, after that.

“Maybe we should have gone looking. Like, back at the start of all this shit. Actually tried to find wherever the other assholes ended up,” She said, laid with her head on Connie’s stomach and her fingers laced into her hair. The hand faltered for a moment, but returned to its gentle stroking.

“Tasha, you know that wasn’t an option at the time.” Not that she hadn’t considered the same thought, turned the blame back on herself. She wouldn’t let South start down that route too, though, not when she was so much more susceptible to the spiral that followed than she was.

“I know but− what if we’d _tried?_ They couldn’t have gone far! No further than we had! Maybe if we’d fucking _looked_ , maybe we coulda found _someone_ and− and−” She groaned, buried her face against Connie. Her attitude faltered. “I-I don’t know. Done _something_.”

“Well, we’ll never know, will we? We can’t change the past, Tasha. We just… have to live with our decisions.”

South snorted. “Right. And how the fuck do you do that when your fucking decisions might have killed your brother?”

Connie wished she had the answer to that.

For the last two days before they finally moved on, South barely got out of bed. She slept through past midday and didn’t move when she did, wrapping herself up in the duvet and burrowing so deep inside that she couldn’t be seen beyond a tuft of blonde hair that peeked out. It was only when Connie coaxed her up to do her exercises and eat something that she got up at all.

So Connie hunkered down with her and just gave her some company.

“Thanks babe…”

“No need. Love you, Tasha.”

“…Love you too, Connie.”

They left when the rain storm passed, when civilian ships returned to the skies and the nearby city began to bustle again. South was still wrapped up in the duvet, unable to will herself to get up and move, when Connie had suggested it was time to leave. A quiet noise was her only acknowledgement. As soon as Connie had them off-planet and in open space, she returned to bed and snuggled up next to her once again.

Things weren’t better yet, the pain was far from over.

But life went on.

 

Jobs were a good distraction. Jobs were action, fighting, adrenaline, bullets whizzing by and fists flying. There was no time to think about anything but the work ahead of you when a job really got going, and if South was a little less merciful than usual for the first few weeks of working again, then who would say a word? It was easy to take anger out on faceless, nameless security workers if she didn’t think too hard about it; even _easier_ to take it out on the asshole targets, that tried to cheat them, or were part of that child trafficking ring that they were still running disruption on.

South truly threw herself into their work. At first, Connie did her best to only suggest and take jobs that would be low-strain, wouldn’t put any undue pressure on South’s healing shoulder and would let her ease her way back into the fight. Security details, low-risk infiltrations, package runs with no theft to kick them off. However before long, South was clearly getting restless; she took unnecessary risks on easy jobs, fought with more vigour than ever even against assailants who stood no chance, put all of her energy behind everything she did to the point it was a fault.

It was threatening to give Connie a goddamn heart attack.

She thought that maybe moving back towards more difficult, more interesting jobs would mean that South wouldn’t find it necessary to go out of her way to take risks, that maybe she’d dial it back a little and stop giving Connie palpitations every time she watched her over the video feeds.

Of course it was never going to be that simple.

Instead of toning her recklessness down, it only seemed to make it more extreme. Within a couple of weeks of them returning to their usual kinds of jobs, South threw herself so recklessly into a fight that she injured her shoulder, setting her recovery back further.

No matter how much South insisted that it was “fine, Connie!” or that she “wasn’t being reckless at all, Connie!” it didn’t stop her from being _worried._

So the next job they took was a week-long security detail−low-strain, unlikely to involve fighting−that provided boarding, with all the relative luxuries that provided. The motivation behind the selection was mostly letting South’s arm heal again, something even South had agreed to, _but_ − the small luxuries like proper food; a big fancy bed; and a proper shower were certainly nice bonuses.

“Now isn’t this nice, huh?” South said, her arms wrapped loosely around Connie’s waist as she sat on the shower’s small, in-built seat. Connie’s fingers ran through her hair, bubbles from the shampoo all over her hands. “Sharing a proper _shower_ , helping each other wash _down_ , no lectures about being _reckless_.”

Connie raised a brow, her hands stopping still just to emphasise the look she gave South, before continuing to suds up her hair. “I ‘lecture’ you because I’m _worried_ , Tasha.”

“Yeah yeah, I know, but I’m _fine_. I know how to take care of myself, babe. You know that,” South said. Her fingertips danced up Connie’s spine, back down over the curve of her ass. “I’m totally fucking fine.”

“Can you blame me for being concerned that you’re going to get hurt again, Tasha? It’s only been a few months since you nearly _died_ , you injured your shoulder again less than two weeks ago!” Connie said, tilting South’s head back so she was looking up at her and shaking her lightly. “You’re insufferably stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

“Yep.” South grinned proudly. “It’s part of what you fucking love about me.”

“Only when it’s not threatening to get you _hurt_ ,” Connie said. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, she sighed softly and let her lips linger there for a moment, nose pressed into her hair. “I love you. I _promise_ I’m not trying to be overbearing or anything. Am I coming across that way?”

“Nah, you’re fine. You’re just normal levels of worried and shit,” South said. Both arms back around Connie’s waist, she tugged her closer so she could press a light kiss over her pulse. Not moving away, she let her lips tickle her skin. “Honestly babe I’m just glad to know you still give a shit, fucking surprised being in an enclosed space alone with me for over a fucking year hasn’t put you off my ass yet.”

“Mm, well I’d never be put off _that_.” A cheeky smile spread across her face and South laughed, breath against her skin. Slowly her attention moved from her pulse further up her neck, teeth dragging over her skin and leaving tingles in their wake. Finally latching on, she sucked a dark mark into her skin. Connie made a quiet noise. “ _Tasha._ ”

“That’s me.” Her grin pressed against the faint bruise. Connie exhaled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll never get tired of you. If anything, being ‘stuck’,” she made it clear with a playful eyebrow raise what she thought of _that_ sentiment, “with you has made me love you _more_.”

“Wow. That’s cheesy,” South said through a beaming smile. “Okay we’re putting a stop to this fucking cheese-fest right now, c’mere.”

Arms hooked under Connie’s thighs, South pushed up from her seat and picked her up. Connie squeaked and laughed, latching on as she was pressed against the opposite wall of the shower. When their lips met she melted a little, running her fingers through South’s hair and grasping at the root. The grin that spread across her face when South made a low noise almost broke the kiss.

What actually broke it, however, was South pulling away and hoisting Connie up onto her shoulders. Another shocked squeak and laugh erupted from her, her thighs closing tight around South’s head and heels digging into her back in an instinctual effort to keep herself upright. It didn’t bother South, she was on her knees with Connie on her shoulders, pressed to the wall, in seconds.

“Tasha your _shoulder!_ ”

“Oh shut the fuck up and let me eat you out.”

Connie would have retorted, if South hadn’t immediately set about doing exactly what she said she was going to do. The best she could do was jab her in the back with her heel as she leant back against the wall, trusting in South to keep her securely on her shoulders. She’d tell her off for risking damage to her shoulder again when she was less… _distracted_.

Dammit, South.

The shower lasted _much_ longer than they’d meant it to. One thing always lead to another, what South started was very rarely what South finished. Even as they slipped out of the shower to dry off they kept falling back into each other, laughter filled kisses and fresh love bites and skin against skin.

 _Eventually_ they made it back through to the main part of the room, where they flopped down together with South’s head in Connie’s lap as they sprawled out across the mattress. They’d only made it as far as pulling on their underwear, but that hardly mattered, laid there with only each other for company.

“You’re absolutely terrible, you know that?”

“What, me? Nah. I’m a fucking angel.”

“Really now. Didn’t know angels had skills quite like what you can do with that tongue of yours.”

“Duh, course they do. What the fuck else are they gonna do to pass the time?”

Connie laughed, head thrown back against the sheets. Rolling her head to the side, she peered down at South with a beaming smile; South greeted her with waggling eyebrows and her tongue stuck out between V shaped fingers. More peals of laughter filled the room.

“And fucking hey, you’re the one who falls for my distractions _every fucking time._ That ain’t my fault, babe, that’s alllll on you,” South said, nipping at the skin of her hip. Connie didn’t have a retort to that; instead, she playfully shoved South’s head.

“You provide very− _convincing_ , distractions. That’s all,” She said. “Wait, no, convincing’s not the right word. Persuasive? Persuasive. That’s what I meant.”

South snorted. “Babe they mean the same thing.”

“Not in my head, they don’t. Maybe on the most basic level but−” she waved her hands vaguely, “−you know.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” She pressed a kiss to an old scar. “Picky brain shit.”

“Picky brain shit,” Connie repeated, brushing South’s hair from her face. “ _But_ , good distractions or not, I haven’t forgotten that you _picked me up_ on your _bad shoulder_. Or how that’s just another part of you being rec−”

An exaggerated groan cut her off, South’s face pressing into her hip. Connie laughed, laced her fingers into her hair and twirled the strands around her fingers.

“Didn’t really think you were escaping that, did you?”

“Eh, it was worth a shot.” Rolling back over so that she was rested with her head on Connie’s lap, looking up at the ceiling, she waved a hand. “Go on babe, get it out of your system.”

Connie sighed softly, stroking the top of her head. “I’ve seen you start fights when we could have deescalated the situation. I’ve seen you jump off things there was _no need_ to jump off. I’ve seen you rush into situations without any of your usual forethought. Ever since we found out about Ni−”

A kiss stole the name before she could finish it.

“Don’t psychoanalyse me, babe.” It was teasing, mostly, but underneath the light-hearted surface there was a heavier implication that Connie couldn’t put her finger on, though she could guess. As quickly as it had come, however, it faded away as South raised a brow and continued. “Maybe if you’re so worried you should fucking join me on the next job. In the field, not recon.”

“What, you mean like I’m doing right now?” Connie asked, raising her brow in return.

“No, like on an _actual_ job. Not a boring ass security detail or whatever,” South said. Her face split with a grin. “C’mon, it’s been fucking _ages_ since we fought side by side. Don’t you miss it? Kicking butt with me?”

“I should _really_ keep running recon for you.” She _tried_ to sound reluctant, but a single glance at South’s face told her that it wasn’t really working. South was right, after all, it had been a very long time since the two of them had fought side by side in the field; they routinely sparred together and always worked as a pair on jobs such as the one they were running now, but they hadn’t _truly_ fought together in months. She couldn’t deny she missed it. “ _But_ , I guess it might be fun to kick a little ass with my girlfriend again.”

“Hell fucking yeah it would be. C’mon, Connie. Next job.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll take you up on that.” Draping her arms over South’s shoulders, she smiled. “I hope you realise what you’ve let yourself in for. I’m going to be keeping an eye on anything reckless you try to pull. No more having heart attacks just watching you.”

“Eh, I’ll deal.” Leaning closer, she kissed her. Long, slow, firm. “Get to see my badass fucking enbyfriend’s knife skills up close again and kick some ass with her. Getting looked out for a bit is a fair trade. I know you’re not gonna be like, fucking insufferable or anything.”

“Then it’s settled, isn’t it? Next job. We’ll pick something interesting.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“You’re going to have to help me train some more. Which means you’re going to have to remember to do your physio,” Connie said, hands hooked around the base of her skull.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll do my physio and help you. We’re fucking doing this babe. Dream team, back to kick some butt. Right _now_ though−” South said, before stealing another kiss. Connie’s fingers laced up into her hair and she pressed into the contact, parted her lips. South was quick to push her down against the bed, lean over her and pull away, tugging her lower lip with her teeth and grinning down at her. “Gotcha.”

“Got me. You gonna distract me again, huh?”

“Damn fucking right I am.” Her lips brushed against her neck, over the blossoming love bites from the shower. “Not gonna be able to think straight when I’m done with you.” A pause. “…If you make that fucking ‘I can never think straight, I’m bi’ joke again, I’m breaking up with you right now.”

Connie burst into giggles, covering her face with her hand whilst South grinned against her shoulder. She was still giggling when South grasped her legs and wrapped them around her shoulders again, barely having enough composure to get out a quick reprimand (“Tasha, your _shoulder_ , oh my _god!_ ”) before she was otherwise occupied once again.

 

The last few days of the security detail passed without incident. As always they made the most of their time in the hotel, taking showers after every long, dull day and eating as much real food as they could get away with. Their ship had become their home and it was almost comforting to return to it, but they couldn’t deny they would miss the relative luxuries.

Their next job opportunity came within the next week. A regular client from a nearby colony wanted them to run a type of job that they’d started calling fix-it jobs, to steal back a collection of sensitive, specialist equipment that had been taken by another set of mercenaries. Fix-it jobs had quickly become one of their standards, so it was nothing special in and of itself, but the compound the equipment was being stored in was extremely high-security. Nothing they couldn’t handle, of course, but it made things a _little_ more interesting.

Connie spent a day creating an adapted version of her usual recon programs for use in the field, re-coding the software inside her helmet and installing her own. She’d be able to do everything she usually did from the ship from right by South’s side, though−

“−of course this is going to be its first field test. I mean I know my programs _work_ but the helmet software has different limitations to the PC software so I have no way to know how _well_ it’ll work until we’re down there. In theory it should all work fine, but−”

−there was always the chance that it would throw up errors, when she actually used it. Connie would never have been allowed to adapt her armour this way back in the Project, she’d always had to make do with the software they were provided, whether it was suited to the job or not. A little trial and error was well worth how helpful she knew this would be in the long run, especially if she committed to coming into the field more often.

And she was already feeling the buzz, before the job had even started.

Night rolled around on the day of the job and South set them down not far from the compound with an expertly executed silent landing. No alarms sounded, no heads turned; they were all clear. Usually Connie would have been sat in her PJs watching the camera feed, monitoring the patterns of the patrols, but instead she was suited up and at South’s side as the rear bay door opened.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t _excited._

With the camera feeds cycling across her HUD, Connie was able to track the patrols just as well as she would have from inside the ship. When an opening came, South boosted Connie over the outer-wall. From there, she silently took out the guards at the entryway further along the wall and unlocked the doors, letting South inside the compound without the alarm being raised. As far as the system was aware, the guards had unlocked the doors themselves.

“We have about fifteen minutes until the guards are supposed to switch,” Connie said. South dragged the unconscious guards into their booth, tied up back to back and out of sight. With them out of the way, Connie locked the doors. “I’ve looped the camera footage.”

South checked her gun, snapped the slide back into place. “How far into the compound is this thing?”

“Three hundred metres or so. Updating the marker on our HUDs. Using their own sensors and cameras we should have live updates on the locations of all hostiles on the map, too.” Flicking through the cameras, she pulled up those that covered the courtyard−the main obstacle between them and their target. Once into the internal portion of the compound they had cover, more camera blind spots. The quicker they got inside, the better. “Courtyard is clear. Next patrol is in two minutes. Let’s move.”

“Right behind you, Veritas.” The grin behind her helmet was evident in her voice.

Sticking close to any potential cover, they crossed the courtyard towards the entrance that would lead them directly into the main portion of the facility. When the next patrol came around they ducked behind separate cover, low plant beds that framed the path to the main entrance; both patrolling guards went down within seconds of getting close enough. The next patrol wouldn’t reach them for a further five minutes.

Two more guards went down to quick strikes at weak areas at the side entrance they needed. Connie kept an eye on the feeds from the cameras facing the door, watched the guards go down without either her or South coming into view, and then looped the next five seconds before they ducked inside.

“Just over one hundred and fifty metres to the target.”

“Those makeshift trackers of yours are painting a good fifteen or more people between us and the target room,” South said. “Armed, most of ‘em. Ready to kick a little ass, Veritas?”

Connie grinned. “Right behind you, Nemesis.”

It was all too easy to cross through the facility; Connie’s tricks had worked, they remained undetected and most importantly, _unexpected._ No one in the next room or the next corridor saw them coming, Connie and South took them out with practiced ease.

There was a certain thrill to it all, a familiar buzz that Connie hadn’t felt since the missions that she and South ran as partners back in the project. When they worked together their strengths _complemented_ each other; when they worked together infiltration and stealth _succeeded_. South provided the strength, the speed, the quick take downs that cleared the base silently and gave Connie the time she needed to do her work. Connie provided the live intel, the constant cover, the distractions, and gave South the _respectful_ guidance she needed to complete a stealth objective. They covered each other’s weaknesses, bolstered each other’s strengths.

Of course that meant South was sent on stealth missions with North, instead, because it had never been _about_ working together, not in that way.

But now, there was nothing stopping them. Why hadn’t they done this _more?_

“Twenty metres, ten more hostiles. They’re finally throwing everything they got at us, babe,” South said, punctuated by the click of her reloading. Exiting one room, they took cover at either side of the final door.

“Shame it won’t be enough,” Connie said, the _buzz_ of adrenaline running through her. Her shoulders heaved with every breath and a grin spread across her face; South could see the excitement in her, and it only fed her own grin.

“Fucking shame.”

They burst through the doors.

South used the momentum behind the shove to launch a spinning kick at the first guard’s head, sending them flying to the side. Landing firm she turned and shot out another’s knee, jerking her own knee up into his face as he tumbled. Connie darted past her, or at least, she thought she did−the weight against her back a moment later said otherwise, and the illusion of the hologram moving shattered when it settled into place just in time to be struck by a fist. The stumble it caused sent the guard right into one of her co-workers.

“Still not learned to call those holos, Veritas?”

“Oh, shit− sorry.”

Laughter on her breath South shook her head, blocked a fist with the back of her arm and slammed her palm into their face. Connie felt familiar at her back− _on_ her back when their arms linked and she used her leverage to throw a two-pronged kick. They moved together, all but effortlessly. Never perfect, no, never quite as in-tune in battle as South knew she could achieve with−

−but they knew each other’s styles, they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, they _knew_ each other. It had been so long, they were out of practice, but there was time for that.

It took barely over a minute to clear the room.

Connie was buzzing. Panting from the exertion and the excitement she turned to South, bouncing on her tip toes, and dragged her down so their helmets bumped.

She was breathless, yet almost laughing. “That was _fun_.”

South chuckled, hooked her hand around the back of her head. “Glad you’re happy, babe, but we _really_ gotta get the package and get the fuck outta here.”

“Right, right.”

 

When they returned to their ship in the early hours, job completed, Connie was still running on the high from the fight. South couldn’t help but grin at her excitement, at the way she hadn’t stopped happy stimming; she kept bouncing, walking on her toes, swinging her arms. She hadn’t seen her so filled with energy in months.

Despite everything that had happened lately, South found that it rubbed off on her, too.

Ever since their agreement to stop looking at the database, it had been− _difficult_ , for Connie to stop herself from looking. She’d always found that being told not to do something, even if she’d agreed not to, made her want to do it _more_ and with this, of all things, it was even harder.

But that morning, as they prepared to sleep, she found that for the first time in weeks she felt no need to look.


	14. Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually posting this from Greece (on bad wifi too) hence the sort of weird time, still posting it today despite getting the dates wrong for when I'd be back though!

Time began to fly by. With the year anniversary behind them, the database untouched and no signs of bounty hunters or UNSC soldiers in weeks, their lives fell into a stable routine. There’d been a spike in business in the last few months, with people requesting them by name for their skills, filling their time with job after job after job− when they weren’t working, they were training or resting. Life was hectic, but it was a good kind of hectic. The kind where the things worrying you became distant thoughts, buried in the back of your mind.

They needed that.

“Okay, let’s try that again,” South said as she offered Connie a hand, tugged her up to her feet. Connie exhaled, stretching her legs up behind her. “C’mon, you’re getting back into the swing of things babe.”

The gym around them was swarming, the air filled with the sounds of equipment moving, people panting, and the kind of lingering smell that could only be found in a room full of active people. It was a little overwhelming, but there was only so much they could do in the ship or without proper gym equipment and a full gym made it easier to blend in. So Connie made sure she had her stimming aids on hand, to balance it out.

“I’m more out of practice than I thought I was,” Connie said, stretching her arms behind her head. “I suppose this is what I get for not coming into the field more than like… three times? In a whole year.”

“You’ve been doing fucking great when you’ve come in with me recently, babe. You’re just a _little_ rusty.” Getting back into stance, she beckoned Connie forward. “Try it again. You can totally fucking get me off my feet, c’mon.”

Connie mimicked her stance. “I don’t want to throw you onto your bad shoulder.”

“Jesus fucking shit. I’m not a fucking china doll, I’m not gonna break. Get me off my feet. I know you can do it, I’ve seen you take bigger people than me off their feet.” Maine. Connie remembered that training session, the shocked look on Maine’s face when she took them down. “C’mon. Kick my ass babe.”

With a roll of her eyes, Connie adjusted her stance and took a deep breath. Right. A sweep was the best way to take her legs out; her size worked to her advantage in moves like that, let her get down quicker, evade easier. Now, how best to _execute_ that−

“Getting old here, bab− _whoakay_ , starting.” She blocked the slashing swing of a fist easily−heh, she could even see the way Connie’s hand flexed in discomfort for lack of a knife to hold−but failed to catch the way she feinted, ducked around.

Within seconds something swept through her ankles, knocking her legs out from under her and− she landed hard on her front, the wind knocked out of her chest and the impact radiating pain across her torso. Turning over, she groaned.

“Okay, I asked for that. Like I literally fucking asked for that.”

Connie raised a brow, hand on her hip. “You sure did. You okay down there?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. I’m gonna fucking like− take five again, though. Think I jerked my arm on the way down,” South said. Taking Connie’s hand with her good arm she pulled herself up to her feet, bending towards the kiss that Connie offered.

“I didn’t hurt it too bad, did I?” she asked, squeezing her hand.

South shook her head. “Nah, that was on me. Threw it out to catch myself without thinking. Just need a minute.” Leaning in for another kiss, she bumped their heads together and started walking backwards. “Do some stretches or push-ups or something. We’ll spar s’more in like, ten minutes.”

“Yes coach.” Connie raised a mock salute; South flipped her the bird. Her playfully offended gasp and hand against her chest were met with a cheeky grin before she turned away.

With a groan, South flumped down onto the floor against the wall. She rolled her shoulder, grunting a little in pain, and let her arm drape over her knee to support it. It’d be fine in a few minutes. Taking a swig of her bottle of water she sighed, leaning her head back against the wall and watching Connie as she started to stretch. She looked good in workout gear; looked even better in blue. Weird, how seeing her in a colour beside her armour’s was still so remarkable to her.

Sometime after she sat down−a couple of minutes, at most−she caught a flash of movement in her periphery; someone had sat down next to her, shuffling about to get comfortable and panting. She didn’t think anything of it, really, it was a free galaxy−sort of, you know, war time and all−so they could sit anywhere they liked. Her focus remained on Connie, now down on the floor doing push-ups, and she took another swig of water.

Thirty seconds or so later, her sitting buddy spoke up. “Girlfriend tired you out?”

“Enbyfriend,” South corrected. She set her water down, exhaled. “Nah. Recovering from a shoulder fracture, so I gotta take breaks sometimes, that’s all.”

“Ouch. You in the forces?” The person said. South raised a brow, turning her head just enough to look at them. A woman, not much older than herself, and Chinese. “I was. ‘Til I lost my leg, got this.” She patted the prosthetic limb, starting just below her hip joint. “So I was just wondering, y’know, if you got that injury fighting the war.”

South chuckled, looked back ahead of her. “Something like that.”

“Gonna be cryptic and vague huh? Alright.” The woman chuckled, pulled her organic leg up under her prosthetic’s thigh. “I’ll just assume you’re part of some big secret government thing, then. Make my day a little more interesting.”

South barely hid her laugh behind another swig of her water. If only she knew how right she was.

“Not having an exciting life, post-service?”

“It’s okay. I have it better than some, y’know,” she said, exhaling. Gesturing vaguely ahead, she indicated another woman who was running on a treadmill. She had a prosthetic arm, starting right from her shoulder. “Got out with her, got to live instead of dying out there to those Covvies. Get to go to our favourite park every week, eat at our favourite junk food place. Y’know, with everything going on with the war− it’s the little things, the people, that really matter. We’re lucky to have those things.”

South scoffed. “Yeah, right, because _that’s_ not cliché as all fuck.”

Over on the mats, Connie sat up from a round of sit-ups facing South. When she caught her eye, she smiled brightly and waved over at her. South’s face lit up.

Beside her, the woman snorted. “Right, cliché.”

 

Hours later they left the colony behind, tired out from training all day and ready to return home. They’d stay in orbit for a few more days, or until they got a new job, whichever came first. A growing base of clients willing to not only hire them based on their reputation alone, but pay them higher rates for their skills, meant that they had a healthy collection of savings and more than enough to cover expenses for equipment, armour upkeep, fuel, food, even upgrades to old belongings. They didn’t _really_ need to do quite so many jobs as they did, but not doing jobs meant long expanses of time where they had little else to do but stay in the ship.

As much as they enjoyed having downtime−real, honest to god _downtime_ −there was only so much you could do to pass time when you were confined to a ship, unable to risk significant trips groundside without just cause. So they found a balance, working more jobs than they needed whilst making the most of the mornings, nights, and longer breaks between them. Even then, Connie often joked that they were going to run out of films to watch sooner or later.

“Alright, we’ve got a few job offers _annnnd_ − all of them are fix-it jobs!” Connie said, sounding amused. “Really? I think other mercs are encroaching on our business, Tasha, we seem to be spending most of our time fixing what they’ve done to clients!”

South chuckled, the sound muffled where she nuzzled against her lower back. “It is starting to fucking feel that way. Maybe we should wait for something to come in that _isn’t_ a fix-it, y’know, variety being the spice of life and all.”

“You say that as we’re about to watch _Soldiers of Eternity_. _Again_ ,” Connie said. South grinned, face pressed into the material of her shirt, and pulled her closer.

“Yeah, well, it’s a fucking good movie! And you fucking love it, so don’t you start that with me,” she said. That was true; the movie was a good balance between South’s love of action and modern fantasy and Connie’s love of suspense and solid plot. There was a reason it was their go to. Then, cheekily, South added, “Besides, if we keep watching the same films over and over, we won’t go through the rest so fast. Won’t run out of films like you keep saying we fucking will.”

Connie glanced down at her, over her shoulder. “Very funny. Mm’kay, let me just set the film up then we can get started. Want me to put it on in German, make it a little more interesting?”

“Ugh, not this time, I wanna just flop and not think too hard for a while.”

“Fair enough.”

She pulled up the film on the PC−a newer model now, high-tech and more advanced than anything she’d had in years−and set it to play. Gently coaxing South’s arm to loosen a little she wriggled around until she was laid on her side, tucked back into the curl of South’s body, then pulled the arm right back around her. South pressed against her back, tangled their legs together, and pressed her face into Connie’s hair. The familiar music started up and they settled, cosied up on their bed with all the time in the world to waste.

It was just under half an hour into the film that South pressed a kiss to Connie’s head and murmured, “Mm, hey babe?”

“Yeah?” Connie turned just slightly, leaned into South’s hand as she brushed the long side of her hair behind her ear. “Something wrong?”

“Nah. I’ve just been thinking about some shit, that’s all.”

“Dangerous.”

“Wow, stealing my jokes off me babe? How dare you,” South said, earning herself a little giggle. Shaking her head, she squeezed her and then continued. “Just− something someone said. Back there in the gym. Do you− do you think we’re like, _lucky?_ ”

“Lucky?” Connie frowned, rolled over in South’s hold. “What do you mean?”

“Like… we’re fucking together. Despite fucking everything going on, from the dickass Project to the whole fucking war, we’re− we’re fucking _together_. We’re together and we’re fucking living, we’re not just surviving anymore we’re actually having fun and− and fucking doing shit. Sure it’s far from fucking ideal but− we’re alive, we’re _together_ , we’re not fighting the war or anything. Hell, we’ve barely been injured!” A pause. “Touch wood. Is there anything wood in here? Fuck.”

“I− well I’m not sure I’d say _lucky_.” Her brow furrowed with thought, her fingers started to tap softly against South’s back. “Or at least not in the way I think you mean it? You mean lucky as in we have it good, right? I’m not misunderstanding that?”

“Uh, I guess? Sorta. Something like that.”

“Then yeah, I’m not sure I’d say we’re lucky in that sense. We’ve certainly _gotten_ lucky, I guess? We’ve beaten the odds on things we had _absolutely_ no right to get out of as unscathed as we have. Hell, the fact we even made it out of the Project at _all_ is− is−” brow knitting tighter, she shook her head, “−well, you know. I’ve never even really believed in luck, all these obscure concepts just never clicked or made sense to me, it’s just probabilities and coincidence but− anyway, I’m rambling. Why do you never stop me when I ramble?”

South shrugged. “Because you’re adorable and I love listening to you.”

“…I love you.” A quick peck, and then, “The point I’m trying to make is that, well− the odds have been weirdly freaking kind to us, yeah, but− lucky in any other sense? I don’t think anything we’ve been through means we have it _good_. We’ve lost a _lot_ −” a particular loss came to mind, “−and… We’re ‘lucky’ we’re together, we’re ‘lucky’ we’re alive, we’re… we’re ‘lucky’ that we have what we have, but that’s all despite everything else. Does that make sense?”

“Good job implying all those air quotes babe,” South said, with no hint of sarcasm. “Yeah, I think that makes sense. Kinda. I don’t know, this woman back in the gym? She lost her leg to the war and her partner lost her arm. But they fucking got outta there, _together_ , like− fucking− she was going on about getting to go to their favourite park and favourite junk food place and− that’s fucking luck of some kind, y’know? Ugh. I’m being sentimental, this isn’t fucking flattering at _all_.”

Connie laughed softly, stretched up to kiss her. Fingers laced into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and drew her in closer. When they pulled away, their foreheads bumped.

“I think it rather suits you.”

“Oh, shut up, you.” Nuzzling their noses together, she grinned at the way Connie wrinkled her nose in response and laughed. “I need to say something less mushy now, balance it out.”

“Oh yeah?” Connie raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Uh− how about how fucking good your ass looked in those yoga pants earlier? Seriously, what the fuck. No butt has the right to look that good. Or how every time you kicked my ass I fucking died a little inside of sheer fucking gay because you’re so _fucking_ badass?”

“Mm, now that’s your usual brand of mush,” Connie teased, laughing as she pressed a quick kiss to South’s lips. “I love you, Tasha.”

“Love you too, babe.” Tucking Connie’s hair back behind her ear where it had fallen loose, she kissed her nose. “You tiny fucking kickass.”

“I didn’t even do that _well_ today,” Connie said.

“Nah, you did fucking great. You’re getting back into your style and shit, _and_ you do better in the field when you don’t think so fucking hard about it,” South said, tapping her nose. “Now c’mon, turn your cute ass around and be little spoon again. Best part of the film’s coming.”

Connie rolled her eyes. “So romantic.”

“I’m the most romantic fucker this side of the galaxy I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”

With a laugh Connie rolled over, nestling herself back into the curve of South’s body. South pressed her back against her, fingers dancing across the scar on her stomach beneath her shirt. Both returned their focus to _Soldiers of Eternity_ , a comfortable quiet falling over them that was broken only by laughter and occasional comments on the film. Pressed close together, nowhere to be, nothing to do.

Things could be worse. At least, they could pretend that they weren’t, for a little while.

Unfortunately the galaxy always seemed to take that as a challenge.

 

“You two are preceded by quite the reputation.”

South and Connie stood in the office of their latest client, fully armoured. Jepsen was a new client with a big contract offer on the table and the potential to become a regular; he’d been referred to them by another regular of theirs and seemed to have done his research, if his initial communication was anything to go by. He’d also passed all of Connie’s checks with flying colours, which made him both an intriguing client and a suspicious one. So they’d agreed to the meeting, to see how it went.

“Never failed to deliver on an objective, or missed a single deadline. You make phenomenally quick work of entire compounds worth of people on a regular basis,” Jepsen said as his eyes scanned his data-pad. He glanced up from the screen for a moment, gaze flicking between each suit of armour in front of him. “Well, from what I’ve heard, that part is mostly Nemesis. Haven’t heard nearly as much about little Veritas there in the field, heard you’re more of a techie. Not sure how I feel about sending a squint into the field on an important retrieval like this, but…”

He nodded his head from side to side, made a vague noise.

South’s head tilted down, casting a shadow over her visor, and she stepped forward. “Veritas is more than capable in the field, they’ve joined me _plenty_. And if you’ve done as much research as you say you have, _Jepsen_ , you should also know that we don’t exactly take kindly to being _disrespected_.”

Jepsen laughed, locked his data-pad.

“Bitey, bitey. Don’t worry, I know all about the clients that pissed you off; there’s certainly more than one layer to your reputation. Fortunately your skills make up for your rather _volatile_ behaviour,” he said, placing the data-pad down on the desk. “I mean no disrespect, nor do I mean to underestimate you. After all, the two of you survived Freelancer−”

A sharp intake of breath.

Freelancer. He said Freelancer. How did he know about Freelancer?

“−a pair of agents with enough skill to get through that, and remain uncaptured for almost a year and three quarters? You’re worth top dollar.”

“ _What_ did you just say?” Connie said, clenching her fists tight to stop herself from tapping. The kevlar constricted tightly around her fingers. South’s stance tensed; her fists clenched; a growl ripped up her throat as she took another step in front of Connie and made Jepsen take a step back. He raised his hands defensively.

“Now now, there’s no need for that. I’m hardly going to tell anyone, just as Symons hasn’t. Crimes against the UNSC are of no consequence to me, turning you in would only risk my own… activity, coming under scrutiny.”

“How the fuck do you know that we were involved in Freelancer?!” South bit, teeth gritted. “Who the fuck else knows? Symons and what other assholes?!”

Jepsen raised a brow. “You weren’t aware?”

“No.” Connie’s fists clenched tighter. Don’t start tapping in front of a client. “We _weren’t_.”

“Well I apologise, I was under the impression that you two were very aware of what exactly it was you were selling. Your history was passed onto me by Symons when she recommended you. I don’t know how she, or whoever it was who passed it to her, found out,” Jepsen said, arms folding loosely. “Your secret is safe.”

“Forgive us if we’re a little fucking hesitant to believe that,” South said.

“As I said, turning you in would do neither I nor anyone else who has hired you any good. There would be no bounty to collect if we got ourselves sent to jail. I have no loyalty to the UNSC. I simply want you to work this job. You will be paid substantially to match your skill, and no one else will hear about this. Alright?”

South turned to Connie, expression hidden behind her visor but her hesitance coming across clearly in the way she stood, the strength in her stance gone but all the tenseness still there. Connie was still resisting the need to tap, to stim and give herself something to focus on, but met her visor’s gaze anyway.

She didn’t like this.

No one was supposed to know. Yet apparently not only did Jepsen know, but so did Symons, and most likely multiple other clients who had been hiring them in recent months. They had no way to know who was first to find out, how they found out, or how much risk this had put them in. No, there had been no attempts at capturing them from either bounty hunters or the UNSC in multiple months now, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a chance it could cause future confrontations.

No one was supposed to know, but they did.

All of her instincts were telling her to bail, to turn down the job and cut all contact with Jepsen, Symons, minimise the damage. Except for the fact that turning down the job would only create the potential for Jepsen to pass this information onto someone more likely to hand it over to the UNSC.

“…Alright,” she said, tearing her gaze away from South and forcing herself to look Jepsen in the eye. “We’ll take the job.”

South’s stance squared.

Jepsen clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Now, it’s a very simple job, I just need you to retrieve a sensitive package from a competitor and bring it back to our headquarters. We’re providing you a dropship. Their location is probably _half_ the size of what you usually deal with. You should find you have no problems.”

Connie swallowed the lump in her throat. Right. No problems.

Within an hour they were in the back of a dropship, doing their standard equipment checks before they were dropped into the facility. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife, weighing down on them heavily as they checked over guns, med supplies and ammo, their armour.

Now away from Jepsen, Connie had stopped resisting her need to tap and was tapping out a quick rhythm against the hilt of her knife. She’d checked her software over at least three times now, her weaponry at least four; there were words on the tip of her tongue but every time she went to say them, she found herself checking her equipment again.

South wasn’t faring any better, she was pretty sure she’d checked her ammo a good five times in as many minutes. Some nauseating mix of anger and nerves was collecting in her chest, combining in that all too familiar itch to hit something to let some of the tension out. She saw the way that Connie would look up every now and again, as if to speak, only to stall and look back down. It was just hard to come up with the words to express what she knew they were both feeling.

“We’re ten minutes out,” the pilot called back. South sighed, snapped the slide of her pistol back into place for the third time.

“Copy that,” she said, attaching the pistol to her leg. Her rifle was loaded too, so she swung that over her back. All set. No more checks to hide behind. “Veritas…”

“I don’t understand how they found out who we are.” She didn’t look up from her knives, testing their weighting in her hand over and over. “I’ve been so _careful_. The only thing I can think of is one of the bounty calls on us getting passed on, that way they’d know we were Freelancers but not necessarily _which_ Freelancers.”

South sighed. “Well most hunters do only follows calls with confirmed sightings, so I guess if someone got wind of that… fuck. That puts the start of this shit at _months_ ago.”

“We haven’t had anyone after us in just as long. It’s possible someone got hold of old information from local bounty hunters, or− I don’t know. If I think too hard about it, I’m just going to get more nervous,” Connie said. Finally she clipped her knives to her leg. “If they’re not going to turn us in, if it’s been what’s getting us paid more…”

“What if someone _does_ turn us in?”

“Then we deal with them. We can’t do anything else without losing everything we’ve gained, Nemesis. We can’t afford to start over.”

"Fuck.” She knew she was right. That didn’t mean she had to like it. “I fucking hate this.”

“Me too,” Connie said with a sigh. Reaching up she curled a hand around the back of South’s neck and brought her down, bumping the front of their helmets together. Slowly, she exhaled. “We’ll work with it. We’ve dealt with far worse. Right now we just need to get through this job.”

“Right. Fucking cock shit fuck.”

“I’ve never related to your cursing more.”

Jepsen wasn’t wrong about the job; nothing about it was going to be difficult. They’d run much harder jobs within only the past couple of weeks. They jumped out of the dropship onto the roof of the main structure and entered through the rooftop entrance−revealed and opened by Connie’s software−as the ship moved down to hover outside the target floor. They’d jump out once they had the package.

Clearing out the floors between them and the target was effortless. Connie incapacitated multiple personnel with their own security measures, leaving South and herself to pick off those that were left with ease. The casualty count was low, with only those who were particularly stubborn or feisty really ending up severely injured or dead. Several floors down they’d cleared out most of the building with little incident, until there was only sealed door between them and the package.

“The dropship is on the south side of the building. We’ll need to grab the package and cross the floor,” Connie said, eyes flicking across her HUD as she worked to unlock the door. She could do it manually, of course, but she still hated how clunky that felt; she had her software, she’d prefer to use remote connection even up as close as she was.

“Got it. How close are we on the door?”

“About to− there we go.”

It slid open with a mechanical beep, revealing the target room. South burst in ahead of Connie, rifle raised ready to intimidate anyone in the room into backing down−it was meant to be unguarded, but she never risked assuming that−only to find she had no targets at all. Her brow furrowed, eyes scanning the room in confusion, a ‘what the fuck?’ on the tip of her tongue−

And then a rifle butt slammed into the side of her head and she went tumbling sideways.

Connie’s knife wrapped around the wrist of the assailant, cut through the kevlar into the skin of their arm. A sharp hiss of pain; the rifle clattered to the ground; an elbow came for Connie’s face. She ducked out of the way just in time, dodged under the arm into the room and going to sweep the attacker’s feet from under them− only for them to jump over the sweep of her leg, and a second person’s foot to ram into Connie’s back.

“Package!”

Armoured feet against the floor, the sound of something being grabbed and clipped onto the back of armour. South finally dragged herself back to her feet, blocked a punch and threw a knee up into the second attacker’s gut as his partner took the package. He doubled over, winded, but backed up−smart, at least, not trying to push for a fight. Connie was given a window to get up, turn, throw a knife that embedded itself into the thick back of the first’s armour and−

Wait, armour?

Gunmetal grey base, crimson and maroon stripes respectively− armour. Very high grade armour, the kind that the Project and very few others like it had been given.

Crimson beckoned to Maroon, backing towards the door. “Come _on_ , I’ve got it!”

Connie barely recovered from the shock in time to grab her pistol and start shooting, matching South’s equally stunned bursts of rifle fire as both armoured attackers burst out of the room. No shots landed. The thought to follow didn’t hit them until it was too late. Connie saw them jump into a ship from a nearby fire escape on her camera feeds.

There was a long moment of silence.

South’s head turned slowly with every word until she was looking at Connie, rifle gripped limply in her hands and the fight response still visible in the way she stood. “What. The fuck. Was that.”


	15. Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta credit anneapocalypse for one bit of (speculative) information I used in this chapter, I specifically hunted down an post I remembered to find it.

Jepsen slammed his hands down against his desk. “What the _hell_ was that?! That facility was absolutely _nothing_ compared to the work you usually do, the package should have been unguarded, and yet you come back empty handed?! So much for being some of the best mercs in the business right now. I’ve a right mind to cut your pay even if you _do_ somehow rectify this situation!”

“Well fucking excuse us, _Jepsen_ , but that fucking unguarded package? Not so fucking unguarded!” South snapped back, throwing an arm out. Jepsen’s face flattened in a second. “You didn’t fucking tell us we were going to have fucking competition, shitdick!”

“Competition? What do you mean by ‘competition’?” Jepsen stood back from the desk and folded his arms, scowling but inquiring.

“We made it through the facility without any issue at all until we reached the package’s location,” Connie said. She no longer cared about being seen tapping, so her fingers beat against her palm over and over− tap, tap, tap. “When we arrived and entered the room, we were essentially ambushed by two assailants in _armour_. Grey base colour, crimson and maroon accents respectively. We were caught off guard and they were able to take the package, because we had no reason to expect guards, let alone guards in armour, _sir_.”

“ _Fuck_. Fuck!” Jepsen cursed, hitting his desk with a fist and raising the other hand to his head. “They were supposed to be _off_ this.”

Connie shared a side-glance with South. “Care to clarify?”

There was no immediate response. He pinched the bridge of his nose, tapped his fingers against the desk.

“So you fucking _knew_ about this? Who the fuck are they? Why the _fuck_ wouldn’t you fill us in on this shit?! We work well because we get all the fucking facts, Jepsen. Funnily enough keeping key info from us doesn’t _fucking_ help.” South squared her shoulders, a fist pressed against her hip. “Cat got your fucking tongue, Jepsen?”

When Jepsen−now typing on his internal comm.−raised a finger to her, Connie had to hold her back by her arm.

“Fucking listen here, dickmunch, you don’t get to fucking send us into a job unprepared and then give me the fucking ‘one minute’ finger when we fucking ask what the fuck is going on! I’ve a fucking right mind to shove that finger right up your−”

“They’re another pair of mercenaries, hired out by a competitor,” Jepsen said, putting down his communicator and turning back to them. “They’ve been causing our in-house security teams trouble for a while now, breaking in and doing everything from causing a nuisance to actually stealing tech or intel. _They’re_ the reason I hired _you_ _two_ for this job in the first place.”

Connie narrowed her eyes at the emphasis he placed on ‘you two’. “And why was that, sir?”

“Well,” Jepsen raised a brow, seemingly bewildered that she’d need to ask such a question, “if those two Freelancers are so skilled without even a reputation preceding their mercenary work, then a pair such as yourself with a history in the business must be even better.”

The word was no less of a punch in a gut than it had been the first time.

When they realised what he’d said, it felt more like a slap to the face.

_Other_ Freelancers?

South spoke through gritted teeth. “What the fuck do you mean, _Freelancers?_ ”

“You two really are absolutely clueless, aren’t you?” Jepsen sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Another pair of Freelancers, like yourselves, popped up on the radar recently and were hired out by my competitor. We don’t know either your original codenames or theirs−” that, at least, was a minor relief, “−and we don’t know their aliases, so we’ve been calling them by their colours.”

“So that’s all you know about them.” It wasn’t a question. Tap, tap, tap.

“You didn’t think to fucking _mention_ this?!” South said. “Not once in any of the set-up, not fucking _once_ did you think to fucking mention that there were _other mercenaries_ in play? That there was _other Freelancers_ in play?! Not _once?!_ ”

“As far as I was aware Crimson and Maroon had been driven off the trail of this particular job; unfortunately it seems that wasn’t the case. And as for why the fact they’re Freelancers didn’t come up, I didn’t assume any of this news would be so _shocking_ to you. I assumed you knew that people knew your history, and I _assumed_ that you knew that your fellow agents were still running around!” Jepsen retorted, setting South’s visor with a glare. “I’m hardly at fault for your own _ignorance_ , Nemesis. For a pair with your reputation and their−” he jammed a finger towards Connie, “−supposed habit of being a little know-it-all, you seem to know absolutely nothing!”

Connie barely caught South’s arms in time to stop her lunging at him, a snarl rippling up her throat and between gritted teeth. Jepsen barely reacted, taking only a single step back.

“Nemesis.” Her voice was soft, barely betraying her own nerves with a slight shake. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t easy to touch someone through armour. Connie had to slowly coax South to relax her stance with quiet reassurances over their helmet radios until she stepped back and allowed Connie to rest a hand on her lower back. For now, it was the best she could offer.

“Well, sir, I don’t have the ability to track the movements of every one of the over forty agents that were active at the time of our Project’s collapse. As for why we weren’t aware that people knew our history… that’s on those who didn’t tell us,” Connie said, doing her best to remain as composed as possible. “If we may, sir, I think it would be best if Nemesis and I had some time to regroup. If you want us to finish the job, we can, but we have a lot to talk about.”

Jepsen was silent for a long ten seconds before responding. “Alright. We have quarters available; someone will take you there. I’ll have my internal team check a few things and you can report back here in the morning to assist in retrieving the package.”

“Thank you, sir.” For once Connie found herself grateful that inflection was difficult for her, that only those who knew her could really interpret her correctly, because if Jepsen had been able to understand the tone she’d intended− well, she doubted he would have been pleased.

All they had to do was finish this job, then they could cut all contact with Jepsen and play damage control.

Hopefully there wouldn’t be much to mend.

 

South hadn’t stopped pacing since they got to the room.

Sat on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, Connie couldn’t bring herself to get up and help her. It was times like this that were the worst, when they were both so anxious and worked up that neither of them could help the other. No matter how much they both wanted to.

“I can’t fucking believe this!” There was nothing for her to kick here. All of her anxious rage became nausea, gritted teeth and clenched fists; wide, full body gestures and bite to her words. “Over a year and a half, a year and a _fucking_ half running from people, keeping our identities as close to our fucking chests as possible without _fucking_ losing them, and this asshole just fucking− calls out where we came from!”

Connie tucked her knees tighter to her chest, rocked back and forth and back and forth just slightly. If she could only will herself to get up, to go and help her.

“Not only that but− but people are fucking hiring us _because_ of this shit! We’re getting paid extra for this, for− for not being fucking captured! To them, everything we’ve fucking been through is− is valuable because it marks us as _experienced!_ Fuck, suddenly everything fucking Symons was saying makes sense! All that− that stuff about our unique qualifications? Fuck, that _dickshit!_ And it wasn’t just her! _Fuck!_ ”

She dragged her hands through her hair, down her face. Muffled a frustrated yell in her palms. Connie barely flinched. She just rocked back and forth, back and forth. Breathed deeply. Nodded along.

“And as if that wasn’t _enough_ , there’s− there’s apparently other agents running around!” She spun on her heel again, but didn’t pace back in the opposite direction. Instead she stood dead still and sighed, shoulders slumping. “Do we even know who the fuck those guys could be?”

Connie swallowed. “I didn’t recognise their armour, but that means… very little. They could have changed it like we did and even if they didn’t, I’m not familiar with every agent outside of our squad. Some of Beta, sure, and the Triplets… but that’s nothing.”

“And the Triplets disappeared fucking years ago anyway.” A beat. “…They’re probably dead, aren’t they? The Triplets. They didn’t drop out.”

“I− no, they didn’t. They were sent to− to a colony called Charybdis IX. It was…” She made a vague gesture.

“Glassed. Yeah, yeah I remember hearing about that one, years before the Project. Fuck, they really just−?” South groaned. “ _Fuck_ , I never even thought about that shit, despite everything it just never fucking clicked that they− _fuck._ They didn’t even do anything!”

Connie shrugged, cast her eyes down to her feet. Watched her toes flex. “They trusted each other faultlessly. They were dangerous, as far as the Counselor was concerned.”

“Fucking christ.”

When Connie looked up, she found South looking defeated. Finally she found the will to lower her legs over the edge of the bed and offer a hand, beckoning gently until South’s fingers wrapped around hers and she could guide her over. She dropped down to her knees in front of Connie, squeezing her hand and leaning into the other as it cupped her face.

“This is so fucked,” she mumbled, twisting to kiss Connie’s palm.

“It’s… it’s not great,” Connie said. Her thumb brushed over South’s cheekbone, hand slipping down to cup under her chin and gently coax her forward into a kiss. South let some of the tension fall away from her shoulders, leaned into the soft press of her lips.

They parted after a long moment, heads rested together, and South exhaled.

“We’re talking ourselves in fucking circles, aren’t we? Nothing we can do about this right now, so. Ugh.” She stole another kiss, hovered close when they parted and sighed when she finally pulled away. “We gotta get up and hunt down this fucking package tomorrow. Better fucking− shower, sleep. Wanna join me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll− I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Connie said, brushing a strand of South’s hair out of her eyes and meeting them, just for a moment. “Just want to get our files on Jepsen and everyone in order. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Mm, okay.” South kissed the tip of Connie’s nose, grinned at familiar cute scrunch that followed. She stood up, stretched out. “Don’t be too long. Showers are kinda boring without you.”

“Oh− go on. I’ll only be a few minutes, I’m sure you’ll live,” Connie teased. A playful tap to South’s ass finally sent her on her way and Connie watched her until the door to the en suite closed behind her, leaving her in silence. A few seconds later the sound of water came through the door and Connie moved to grab her PC.

She hadn’t thought about doing this in months.

The database was almost foreign to her now; there were new security measures in place, still easy to get through but taking up precious time. She was hyperaware of the sound of the shower and of the time ticking by, looking at the system clock every few seconds as she broke her way back into the UNSC’S Freelancer database for the first time in months. Keeping her promise to South hadn’t been hard, in the end; with everything going on it was easy to forget it, to focus on their lives _now_ and only check the news when they were planetside and had little choice.

She didn’t take breaking her promise lightly, but the circumstances here were unique. She just had to check, just in case; just had to see if she could find any hint of who this could be, any reports of sightings, _anything._ There was no need to tell South if she didn’t find anything and if she did, she knew South would understand.

Unsurprisingly, Alpha Squad’s list of statuses remained unchanged. She wasn’t sure why she looked; the two mercs were clearly not any of their friends, their voices were wrong and they didn’t recognise either South or Connie. Their armour was different, but not _that_ different; one of the others would have noticed.

If they were Freelancers, they were from Beta, Delta or Gamma squad.

Most of the lower ranking agents had been arrested during the fall. Some of Beta squad were still detained, they’d been the closest to working with the AI after Alpha squad−Connie found herself flinching at the thought of the unassigned fragments−with most being assigned experimental units not yet deemed safe enough for the top tier. Virginia, the squad leader, was one of those still detained. Connie remembered her, she dipped into Alpha briefly back during the early stages when squad assignments weren’t essentially locked. Ex-ODST, survival specialist, good leader. Apparently she wasn’t taken in quietly; Connie had to smile at that.

Eight members of Beta’s surviving fourteen had either never been apprehended or been released on bail alongside the entire fifteen person roster of Gamma. Delta−the Triplet’s squad, the lowest ranks in the project−had been all but liquidated by deaths in the field and so called drop outs; ten members had become two by the time the invasion happened. So there was a pool of thirty three agents they could be dealing with.

And she had no idea where to start.

Armour colours and specific permutations were all listed on file, it was the easiest way of identifying an agent on sight and the entire reason South had adjusted her colours. Really, Connie should have followed her lead, but she hadn’t been in the field much at first and− she was getting distracted. The point was, if they hadn’t changed their armour, the colours should be on file.

It wasn’t hard to pull up that particular list; it was organised by squad, alphabetical. Maroon came up twice, but both were Delta agents who’d long since died and neither was paired with grey _anyway_. There were no hits at all for crimson itself, though shades of red were common and one was matched with grey−Agent Arkansas. Only, if Maroon had clearly changed their colours then that meant _nothing._

A moment after that, she realised there was no reason most of these agents would still have their armour _anyway_.

This was a giant puzzle she didn’t have all the pieces for and that horrible itching feeling under her skin was making its presence known. She hated not knowing what she was dealing with; unknowns scared her, they were unpredictable and _dangerous_.

Without all the pieces she had absolutely nothing.

“Hey, babe, you alive out there?” The PC lid slammed shut, her heart beating a mile a minute. “It’s been like, ten minutes! We’re wasting water here!”

“I− sorry, sorry, I got distracted!” She scrambled to put the PC away, sliding off the bed and kicking off her PJ shorts at the same time. Grabbing the bottom of her shirt, she pulled it over her head, muffling herself. “You know what I’m like. But I’m coming now!”

There was the faint sound of a laugh beneath the running water. “Alright! Hurry up, I can distract you way better.”

“You’re really still dragging on the distraction thing?” Connie teased, stripping out of her underwear on the way to the door. Her heart still beat rapidly in her chest, but she tried to ignore it. They’d figure this out. Tomorrow they would help find the package and, _maybe_ , they’d be able to confront these other agents.

That was a good plan, right?

“Hell fucking yeah I am! Now c’mon, get your cute butt in here!”

A grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “So _impatient._ ”

Either way, it could wait until tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to put it out of her mind and spend time with her girlfriend. They both needed it after the day they’d just had; she didn’t doubt for a second this would continue bothering South for the rest of the night.

The least she could do was help keep her mind off it and hope that, in doing so, she could distract _herself_ , too.

 

South groaned, leaning back so far in the desk chair that the back threatened to snap off and rotating herself in lazy half-circles. Connie glanced at her out of the corner of her eye without stopping typing, watching her for a moment before a sharp cough from Jepsen drew her attention back to the screen.

“This would go a lot quicker if you’d tell me what was inside the package,” she said, hitting enter and setting her latest scan to run.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Veritas. It won’t be long before my internal team bring me the code for the tracker we placed in the package. It’s how we found its last location in the first place,” Jepsen said. He loomed over her, a hand on the back of her chair and on the desk beside her. It was all she could do not to elbow him in the gut, to get him to back out of her personal space.

“If I knew what was in this thing I could track it down _without_ the tracker’s signature. Didn’t you say that the tracker only activates when the package is opened?” She waited for a response, continuing only after he nodded. “Well even with the tracker’s signature code, I can’t trace a deactivated tracker. You’ve already admitted that there’s active tech inside! I’d have much better luck tracking that if I knew what I was looking for.”

“Veritas, I’m not revealing the contents of the package. That’s _final_.” He finally let go of the back of her chair and stood back, though not without jerking it about first. “Are you always so inquisitive about the contents of packages you’re charged with delivering? You certainly match up to the know-it-all description I was given.”

The chair stopped spinning. A hand caught hers, squeezed her fist. She huffed, but returned to spinning.

Connie didn’t let go for a long moment.

“With all due respect, Jepsen, when the contents of the package is key to our retrieving it we’re usually informed without needing to ask.”

They couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a client that was so openly disrespectful. By now they’d usually have cancelled the contract, maybe even roughed him up a bit, but in this situation anything but outright killing him would only put them more at risk.

So they did nothing.

It was a few minutes later that the tracker code was finally handed over by one of Jepsen’s aides. Connie input it into the tracking system, but just as she’d told Jepsen it would it meant nothing; without the tracker being activated, she couldn’t use the information. She was no closer to tracking down the stolen package or the other agents than she had been over an hour ago now.

“This is _fucking_ ridiculous, Jepsen! If you want this fucking package so bad, then why the _shit_ do you refuse to give Veritas the information they need to _find_ _it?_ ” South planted her feet firmly on the ground, sitting up with her elbows on her knees and arms draped loosely down between them. She didn’t raise her voice, but there was a deliberateness behind every word. “You’re the one making this _fucking_ difficult.”

God she wanted this to be over. Too much longer stuck in an enclosed space with this asshole and she would snap, there were no two ways about it. It wasn’t even just the way he was treating Connie−mostly, but not only−or even the bullshit situation−though that was a good chunk of the rest. It was the feeling she had that something else was _off_ about him and his entire company. She wasn’t Connie, she didn’t have her uncanny ability to sense when something wasn’t quite right, but how _evasive_ he was being about this package was more than a little suspicious.

Sure, sometimes they were asked to deal with sensitive stuff that clients would rather no one knew about, but most of them had at least a basic understanding that as mercs they weren’t likely to tell anyone.

Jepsen was hiding something.

“If their skills are what they’re rumoured to be, then they’ll find a way around this,” he said sharply.

Connie kept her eyes on the screen, flexed her hands. “Usually I’d remote activate the tracker, but the type of tracker you’ve used doesn’t have that functionality for, some reason.”

“It’s a tracker of our own design.”

Holding back a sigh took considerable effort. Of _course_ it was.

Then, _mercifully_ , a marker appeared on the map in front of her. An alert popped up above it− the tracking device had been activated, Crimson and Maroon had opened the package. Connie was on it in an instant, pulling up the location data and making sure it was recording all of the information in case it deactivated again.

“There.” Double tapping the screen, she zoomed in on the marker. A weight pressed against the back of her seat, Jepsen’s hand reappeared on the desk. “That’s its current position. By the looks of it, it’s in one of the abandoned commercial districts. Old stores and the like, stuff that hasn’t survived the war time economy.”

Jepsen remained unimpressed. “I’m familiar with the area.”

“Well, old districts like that are good places to do drops. No one’s around to see you, there’s plenty of cover even if other people do appear. We’ve done drops in districts like this before.”

“So they’re waiting on their buyer,” South said, spinning in a full circle and coming to a stop facing Connie. “It’s already been fucking hours. Can’t have more than a small window of time left before they hand it over. We’ll have to get out there fucking quick if we want to nab this.”

“Finally, some results! I’ll have them prepare the dropship. Get those coordinates and send them over.” He slapped his hand against the back of the chair, jolting Connie and making her inhale deeply, close her eyes and tense. With that he left the room, fiddling with his communicator.

As soon as he was out of the door, South let out a string of curses.

“−fucking dickmunch assbite cocksucking _prick!_ If he says one more fucking thing about you being a fucking know-it-all I’m gonna shove his head so far up his arse he fucking sees sunlight, the utter fucking _dickface._ ”

Connie sighed, dropped her head into her hands. “We’re never working for this man again.”

“Fucking never. _Cockbite_.” South sighed, pushed herself up so she was sitting up properly. “C’mere.”

She rolled the desk chair closer to Connie, ran her hands up her arms until she lifted her head and she could take her by the hands. Connie let her link their fingers, leaned up to meet the kiss she offered half way. She felt a little of the tension fall away, from both of them. When they parted, it was reluctant.

“Something isn’t quite right about all this,” Connie said, turning back to the screen and pulling the coordinates. The marker was still active; she’d expected it to be offline by now.

“So it isn’t just me? Fucking thank god. This whole fucking situation stinks, even without all this bullshit about the Project, this asshole is hiding something,” South said. She wrapped her arm around Connie’s waist. Connie leant into her side.

“Not even just that, there’s something not quite right about how these mercenaries are acting. Why would they open the package? Even without the tracking device, opening a package with its own energy signature that, for all they know, could easily have been tracked− they’ve only made it easier to find them.” She sent the coordinates off to the dropship pilot. “Why would they risk that, so close to a drop?”

“Huh. Fuck, that’s true. That makes no fucking sense.”

“Either these mercenaries are _extremely_ thoughtless, or they did that on purpose.”

“Which would mean they’re fucking deliberately leading us there.”

“Yeah, most likely.”

“Well, _fuck_.”


	16. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet these mystery characters

“Pilot’s no Niner, are they?”

Connie’s equipment checks slowed to all but a dead stop. The question came completely out of the blue, in the small break in chatter that arose after a bout of rather shaky flying. South hadn’t talked much about the others in months and never did so by name; their talk the previous night about the Triplets had been the closest she’d come since they agreed to stop looking back. So it took Connie a moment to come back to her senses, tossing her knife and catching it.

“Sure aren’t. No one’s quite like Niner though. I still have no idea where, how or _why_ she learned half the tricks she knew,” she said, clipping the knife to her thigh.

“Feel like the answer to that is ‘because she fucking wanted to’.” South laughed under her breath, clipped her pistol to her hip. “The package’s signal come back online?”

The map on her HUD showed the same marker from back in Jepsen’s offices, unmoved since the tracker became active nearly forty minutes ago now. The live signal had disappeared just over _twenty_ minutes ago, leaving them with only an approximate location. If they’d opened the package out of thoughtlessness, then the mercs were likely to still be there; if they’d opened it on _purpose_ , then they were either following a red herring designed to get them off their tail, or walking into a fight.

They weren’t sure which option they were hoping for.

Five minutes later they were dropped into the empty commercial district and left to do their job—they’d meet the pilot at a designated location once they were done, regardless of if they succeeded in retrieving the package. The district was expansive, organised into neat blocks filled with empty buildings in various states of disrepair; boarded up, filled with old store fittings and discarded merchandise, broken glass and crumbling structures. It hadn’t gone out of business all that long ago, but people had taken whatever they could get when it did.

A whole commercial district collapsing as suddenly as this place had was something worth questioning, any other day, but their concerns were tied up in more personal matters.

“Alright, I’ve uploaded the map of this place to our HUDs. Seeing as the tracker wasn’t precise enough to give us exact coordinates, our best bet is to go through it systematically until we find something,” Connie said, already mentally plotting the best route to take. “There’s a plaza about three blocks north of here, we’ll move together until we get there then we can split to cover more ground.”

South nodded, grabbed her rifle from her back. “Got it. Let’s move.”

It was almost eerily quiet. The only noise in the abandoned streets came from the faint breeze blowing loose bits of trash or debris around and the echoing of armoured footsteps against the concrete pavements. Trackers monitored the surrounding area; their HUDs painted the upcoming streets across their field of view. They made sure to check whatever buildings they could, most of which luckily didn’t go above three floors. If the other mercs and their package were still here, they’d find them.

The plaza was empty. As derelict as everything else in the area, filled with trash and with the grass areas overrun by weeds. Any signs of recent activity would be impossible to spot and there were exits on all sides that led out into the northern, eastern and western portions of the district. Beyond each exit were blocks upon blocks of empty buildings, providing countless hiding places.

“This is gonna take fucking _forever_ ,” South groaned. “They could be fucking anywhere!”

“Not only that but with this much cover, ambushing us would be extremely easy,” Connie said. She scanned her map, brows knitting a little with thought. “ _But_ , we can’t afford not to split up. There’s too much ground to cover.”

“Ugh. You’re right, but _ugh_.”

“Keep in contact via radio, rely on your trackers to scan buildings.” Connie pushed up on her tip toes to bump their helmets together. “And be careful.”

South snorted. “Oh c’mon, like I couldn’t take down both of those assholes if I had to. If they’re Freelancers they’re from Beta or _lower_ , I can totally hand their asses to them on a fucking plate. If they’re not, then they’re bog-standard mercs and I can _super_ totally hand their asses to them on a plate!”

“True as that may _be_ , they have _plenty_ of cover to ambush us from, so still be careful, okay? Now go on, I’ll take the eastern route, you go north. That keeps us sort of close by each other and if they’re clear, we can do west together,” Connie said, gesturing at each of the exits.

“Got it. Meet you here if it’s clear.”

“Meet you here.”

Connie followed her map, plotting out the best route to cover all of the streets in the eastern quarter. When split down into quarters the area was manageable, with a few main streets and various little side streets between buildings. It was the buildings themselves the remained the biggest problem. The trackers built into their suits could only do so much, she couldn’t be sure that they weren’t missing something. She’d attempted to upgrade their software since she’d learned how to work with their suits, but the hardware was what needed upgrading. So they had to make do.

That same eerie quietness from the southern quarter continued as she explored the streets. It was starting to play on her nerves, just a little. Just enough that when her radio buzzed to life, she all but jumped out of her skin.

“ _Hey, done the first like— three streets. All clear. Starting to think these assfucks really did move on._ ”

Connie exhaled, laughed quietly at herself. “Keep looking. I’ve done about the same with no sign, but that doesn’t mean they’re not here. We can’t risk letting them go.”

“ _Yeah yeah, I know. But this shit’s fucking boring. If I didn’t want answers so much, I’d wanna call bullshit on this whole thing and just tell Jepsen to shove his package where the fucking sun don’t fucking shine._ ”

“Lovely,” Connie said, not bothering to suppress her grin. “Go on, keep looking. Radio back when you find something, _or_ if you feel like it, I guess. Not going to complain about hearing your voice.”

“ _Cheesy fuck._ ”

“Like you didn’t radio me partially for that reason.”

South snorted, a smile in her voice. “ _Nah. Talk to you soon, babe._ ”

The line went dead and Connie kept moving.

Street by street she cleared out the area, covering ground as quickly as she could without risking missing something. She remained on high alert, the silence never getting any less nerve-wracking, and kept a hand on her knives. By the time she’d reached the far north-eastern corner of the quarter, she was really starting to wonder if South was right and they’d simply moved on from the area all together.

Another street cleared. She pressed down against the blade of her knife so it tilted slightly on its magnetic attachment, tapping the tip against her thigh plate. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. South had radioed back a few times with a similar story. There was still the western quarter to check, but, with three out of four areas cleared without so much of a hint of activity, Connie wasn’t expecting it to be any different.

Sighing, she went to radio South—

When someone grabbed her from behind.

Instincts kicked in. She tore herself free from the hold, spinning around and slamming a kick into her attacker. It landed hard against their hip joint, sent them stumbling back and letting her catch a flash of crimson before they were reaching for their hip—

Gun.

She grabbed their arm, struck their wrist, sent the gun clattering to the ground. They wrenched their arm free, reared back for a punch— the holo that Connie left behind flickered, shattered, left Crimson confused. Let Connie wrench their arm behind them, slam a foot into their spine, send them toppling—

Only for their foot to flick back just in time to catch around the back of her knee and return the favour.

They righted themself before Connie did; scrambled behind cover; grabbed a rifle from their back. Blind-fired bursts of bullets shot over the cover and Connie threw herself out of the way, cursed. Crimson’s position was finally painted on her HUD, but they should have shown up _sooner._ How did they sneak up on her?

More bullets came dangerously close to hitting her. No time, no time.

Crimson was looking over cover every few seconds, redirecting their fire where she moved, but those few seconds left a blind spot. When they next looked over they startled, did a double take— there were _two_ of her, two of her just _stood_ there, what the—?

Wait.

_Dammit_.

They turned around just in time for Connie to hit their faceplate with a sharp kick, slamming it back into their cover. Their head spun. They barely blocked the follow up, but with their back against the wall they threw their legs up, shoved her back. Gave themself time to scramble to their feet, start firing wildly.

Until a knife buried itself in the barrel.

“ _Dammit!_ ” They threw the rifle to the ground. Now totally unarmed, they blocked a sudden slash of a knife with a gauntlet, tried to grab her wrist, disarm her—

Instead the serrated blade slashed through the kevlar on their hands. They hissed between gritted teeth, jerked their hand away and left themself wide open for a slash across the gut— barely dodged, jumping back and launching off the low wall to get momentum.

They leapt right through another hologram, hit the ground rolling.

Connie groaned, smacked her fist against the concrete. She could feel blood running from her nose. One too many uses of the unit, making two holos at once had wasted a use. That wasn’t great; as soon as South saw the blood she’d start fretting, and—

Her radio came to life. Speaking of.

“ _Got eyes on Maroon, I’m in pursuit_ ,” South said over the sound of armoured feet against concrete, of things being kicked out of the way.

Before Connie could even think about responding, Crimson grabbed her and threw her onto her back.

 

Maroon was running up the outside stairs of a building when South spotted him, sniper rifle slung over his back and moving fast. Connie’s blip on her HUD put her at the north-east corner of her quarter, whilst she was at the south-east corner of her own—they were close. Close enough that if this asshole was setting up a sniper nest on top of this, one of the three storey buildings, he might be able to get a clear shot at Connie. That wasn’t happening.

She bolted up the stairs two or three at a time, threw herself up onto the roof. He was immediately in her line of sight, setting up his sniper rifle almost clumsily— but pointed right in the direction of Connie’s signal. Fucker.

“Hey, asshole!”

Maroon didn’t look up, but she heard his muttered curse and saw him hasten his set-up. Too little too late. South crossed the roof in seconds and kicked the rifle out of his hands. A sharp crack sounded as it toppled over the edge, hit the concrete below. Maroon was quick, rolled out of the way of the stomp that followed, used the momentum to get up onto his feet.

South didn’t waste a second; she threw herself at him with a kick, slammed her foot into his chest and threw him back. He really was quick, dodged her next punch without a moment’s hesitation and was throwing his own to match before she’d even withdrawn her arm. A spinning kick struck his side, a follow-up used the momentum of the spin to deliver a sharp blow to his head.

He didn’t go down, he retaliated. Started chaining punches, a technique she knew well, saw in herself and in— _others_. Blocking them was easy, but hitting him was harder. When she broke the chain with a sharp jab under his arm he still dodged away, made her next punch send her flying past him— over the edge of the roof.

She caught the edge in time. Barely. Clung on with all her strength, planted her feet and activated her grav boots.

She knew what he was doing. Clever fuck.

Listening carefully she waited until he was right at the edge of the roof above her and swung herself up, full force. Rammed a hit into his gut; threw him back; landed squarely. If he’d figured out her style, then she’d just have to change it up.

They traded blow after blow, never quite hitting hard enough to knock the other down. South knew how to deal with an evader, sparring with Connie had taught her that; he used more force, he was clumsier, but she knew how to give him the run around. In turn, he kept trying to trick her into going for hits that would send her to the ground— until she turned that back on him.

Coaxing him into an easy hit wasn’t hard. As soon as they were close enough to one of the roof’s edges she feinted, grinned as he fell past her with a shocked yelp—

—and then he caught her on the way down.

Well, shit.

Winded by the impact she groaned, straining to get her arms under herself, push herself up. No warnings blaring inside her helmet, no major damage done; the armour was strong enough to protect against that kind of fall. In the corner of her eye she saw Maroon in a similar state, but moving quicker. She forced herself to move.

“Smart,” Maroon said, grunting and righting himself.

South rolled her shoulders, testing her bad one, and grinned beneath her helmet. “Don’t dish out what you can’t fucking take, assfuck.”

“Well aren’t you just charming.”

“Yeah, well you’re—” Something moved in her periphery, a flash of brown. Connie’s blip on her HUD was flashing. “Veritas?!”

Connie dodged Crimson’s wide swing, barely jumped at the sound of her name, barely registered it wasn’t on her radio until she caught the flash of dark grey and purple. South and Maroon. How were they—?

A punch connected with her gut. Right. Middle of a fight. Details didn’t matter.

The fights merged. Maroon and South wasted no time rushing to back up their respective partners, ready to fight now and ask questions later. Ducking and dodging behind cover gave them just enough time to fill each other in on the new opponent before they were back at it, two against two. Each partnership fought better with the other at their side than alone, working together with ease that came with extreme familiarity.

In short, Maroon and Crimson were no match for Connie and South together.

They cornered them, backed them into an alcove with a gun raised to their heads and a knife at their necks. From there, they _should_ have asked about the package. They _should_ have gotten the location, incapacitated them and _left_. Finished this job, moved on.

Instead, Connie gave a simple order: “Talk. State designations.”

Maroon and Crimson stayed silent, their helmets tilting in a familiar motion—a side-glance. So Connie pressed the knife _closer_ , spoke _firmer._

“State designations. _Now._ ”

“Agent Minnesota,” Maroon said, straining to lean away from the knife. “What’s it to you?”

Crimson still didn’t talk. Connie took a deep breath.

“And _you?_ State. Designation.”

They threw up their hands, pressed back into the wall. “Alright, alright! Agent Ohio!”

A sharp intake of breath. South’s grip on her rifle tightened, her finger hovering a little closer to the trigger. Her stance shifted uncomfortably. It was all she could do not to hit them then and there, screw information, screw everything else. That was—

“You’re _not_ Agent _fucking_ Ohio,” she snapped, jabbed them in the chest with her rifle.

“And how would you know that?” ‘Minnesota’ said, sharing another side glance with ‘Ohio’. He stayed still, didn’t push his luck.

“We know because we _knew_ Agent Ohio. That is not her armour; that is not her voice; that is _certainly_ not her skill level let alone fighting style. You are _not_ Agent Ohio,” Connie said. Her hand flexed around her knife. They were imposters. They were _imposters._

“Oh shit.” ‘Ohio’ groaned, raised a hand to their faceplate. Exhaling slowly, they looked back up, back and forth between them. “You guys really are the real deal, aren’t you? The actual real deal. Freelancers. Real Freelancers.”

“Damn fucking right we are,” South said, adjusting her grip on her gun.

Connie retracted her knife. “I think you better start talking.”

“Right. Probably. Uh— well I’m Alex Whistler. My partner here is Darian Castor. We’re just run of the mill mercenaries, really!” Whistler said, waving their hands defensively. “We _just_ so happened to hear about some so-called ex-Freelancers through a bunch of gossip in our network. Didn’t for a _second_ think it was legit, but, _well_ , it seemed like they—that’s you two, by the way—were getting paid more! All because you’re _Freelancers._ It only made _sense_ that we cashed in on an opportunity like that!”

“So we picked a couple of state names, ones we hadn’t heard mentioned in the news,” Castor elaborated, gesturing between himself and Whistler. “Ohio, Minnesota. First states that came to mind. We had enough contacts to help us get away with the new info.”

“You pinned yourselves as Freelancers _willingly_ , putting yourself at risk of the UNSC being called on you, just for _money?_ ” Connie said, incredulous. They’d spent nearly two years hiding their very real ties to Freelancer, running from the UNSC, and these people had just— just— _decided_ to use that to their _advantage?_

Castor shrugged. “Hey, everyone’s gotta make a living. We’ve had way more to send home since we started this angle. No riskier than anything else we’ve done, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Besides, that’s rich coming from two _actual_ Freelancers who were doing the same thing!” Whistler said, folding their arms. “We assumed that the Freelancers we heard about were fakers from the get go. First caught wind of it a couple months after the year anniversary of that whole thing passed, figured people were capitalising on it. Took us a while longer to set our thing up, but…”

A couple of months after the anniversary. This started at least as early as that. People had known for at least as long as that.

“We didn’t know that people knew our history until our client told us _yesterday_ ,” Connie said. She started tapping against the hilt of her knife. “This wasn’t a choice for us.”

“ _Oh_. Uh. Awkward.”

“Just a little,” South sneered. Even so, she finally lowered her rifle, swung it back onto her back. She mimicked the way Whistler folded their arms. “Saddest thing is, if you hadn’t picked Ohio, I’m not sure we coulda called bullshit. Minnesota was in Gamma, that’s about all I fucking know about them.”

“Agent Ohio— she’s likely dead. Command… got rid, of her, and multiple other agents from her squad. They weren’t good enough, or they worked too well together, so they were disposed of.” She did little to keep the bitterness out of her voice; she understood that these people meant no harm, but this was _personal_.

“Yikes,” Whistler said. “That’s uh— that’s dark. Sorry, I really just picked at random. I had no idea.”

A quiet sigh. “You had no way of knowing. It’s— it’s fine.”

“Can we come out of this alcove? It’s sort of cramped,” Castor said, gesturing. Connie and South shared a look, backed away enough to let the two out. “Thanks.”

“Sooo,” Whistler said, arms behind their back, “do we get to know what _your_ states were? For curiosity’s sake, y’know? And before you get all worried about us spilling, don’t worry, if we did that we’d blow our own cover and _that_ doesn’t benefit us at all. Seriously.”

“And mercs know how to keep secrets. We have regular contact with a bunch of other mercs, our whole business is based on secrecy,” Castor said, shrugging.

“…South Dakota.” South shifted her stance, squared her shoulders and folded her arms tighter. What the fuck did they have to lose, at this point? They had a point, and it wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of people who couldn’t fuck them over at any moment anyway. So fuck it. “Yes, one of the top squad that the news actually gives a fuck about.”

Connie took a deep breath. “Connecticut. Agent Connecticut.”

“Wait, _wait_ — Connecticut?” All of a sudden Whistler was practically bouncing, clasping their hands together. “Connecticut, like— like the one who actually leaked all the Project’s info? The one who broke into the systems? Seriously?”

She tensed, ready for the usual accusations of being crazy, a traitor, or any of the assorted things she’d heard around since the fall. Ready to retort, finally defend herself.

But Whistler didn’t say any of that.

“Because if you are, if that’s you— maybe you can help!”

“…What?” Connie frowned. “Help with what?”

Whistler unsealed their helmet, pulling it off and tucking it under their arm. They had deep brown skin and black dreadlocks twisted into a low bun, lips pulled back in a beaming grin. They gestured for them to follow them, ducking past Castor and walking backwards in the vague direction of a nearby collection of buildings. Castor was quick to follow them.

“Do we—?” Connie asked, turning to South. South just sighed, shrugged.

“What the fuck have we got to lose at this point? C’mon. Let’s see what the fuck they’re going on about,” she said. Still, she grabbed her pistol from her hip; just in case.

Whistler led them to the second floor of the building Castor had been setting up his sniper’s nest on. In the centre of the room sat the package, surrounded by various pieces of equipment. The package was hooked up to a PC, unopened. It was a rather messy set up, unsurprising given their surroundings, but it seemed functional. They were quick to sit down in front of the package, unlocking the PC and starting to type with one hand; the other beckoned Connie over.

Connie hesitated, but followed backed up by South, pistol in hand. Whistler didn’t seem fazed, continuing to beckon Connie until she was sat down at their side.

“So, I know you’re probably wondering why the hell we’re still here after opening this thing up and letting you know where we are and the answer to that is _way_ simpler than you’d think. We can’t take this thing back to our client’s location until _I’ve_ disabled the tracker,” Whistler said, gesturing to their screen. “Thing is, we have no way to disable the damn tracker without activating it! We have to open the package to even _get_ to it.”

“Which means it was safer to open it here, far away from your client, than back at a secure location,” Connie said. Whistler nodded.

“Exactly!”

“We didn’t exactly want to invite you here and end up in a fight, but it was unavoidable,” Castor said, leaning against a pillar not far from Whistler’s set up. “Better to lead you here, deal with you, and then handle the tracker than lead you right to our client.”

“And what’s stopping us from just killing you assholes and taking the package back to _our_ client, huh?” South said, waving the gun. Whistler didn’t even look at her.

“I’m getting to that,” they said, pulling something up on the PC. “You guys see this district? This big, empty district? Well, only a few months ago it was still up and running. Filled with stores and people. Sure, it was struggling a little, the economy’s gone to shit, but it _wasn’t_ dead.”

“What’s your fucking point?”

“Your client, Jepsen? He’s the reason this place, and others like it, shut down!” Whistler said, gesturing at the file on the screen. Connie leaned over to take a closer look, scanning through—it detailed how Jepsen was making it impossible for the stores here to survive, driving up prices and running them out of business. “None of this is evidence, all of the evidence is in that package.”

Connie tilted her head. “It’s a mobile data point? That’s why it has its own energy signature?”

“Yep. It sure is. All of the data is stored in there.”

“We compiled it a while back,” Castor said. “We didn’t steal that package when you last saw us; that was our client’s facility. We stole the intel on that drive months back, compiled it and were planning on releasing it with our client; then Jepsen got someone to steal the whole package, put the tracker in it before we got it back. Of course the tracker gave away our location.”

“Yesterday we were _meant_ to get it out of there before you got to it, but well— you two are _good._ Cleared that place way quicker than we would have.” Whistler closed the file, reopened a different program that Connie recognised; they were connected to the tracker, ready to disable it. “I wanted to see if I could disable it, before you got inside. But then we heard you outside the door and had to just move.”

“Why should we believe all this shit?” South waved the gun again, hand on her hip. “How do we know this isn’t some fucking trap, huh?”

Whistler raised a brow, blinked at her somehow pointedly. “Because we’re not stupid? We clearly can’t overpower you in a real fight. Like Castor said, we never _wanted_ to fight you— even when we thought you were fakes. Your reputation is… something else. Darian isn’t even a sniper, but we thought that was our only chance at taking you out if you got here! Seriously!”

“Look, we’re doing this job because Ignis is our home colony. We’ve been working with the client we’re working with since before we started pretending to be Freelancers, we know them.” Castor pulled off his helmet, let it hang loosely from his hand. He had skin a few shades darker than Connie’s and messy brunette hair, a scar through his eyebrow. “We don’t usually run jobs like this, money trumps morality and all that, but this guy is screwing our home.”

“…So what’s the problem?” Connie asked. She didn’t know how she felt about this, she didn’t know that she trusted everything these people were saying, but she did know that they could overpower them if it came to it. “You’ve been here over eighteen hours.”

Whistler snapped their fingers. “Oh right! The _problem_ is that the tracker locks down as soon as it activates. But if it’s not active, I can’t connect to it and disable it.”

“Because it doesn’t have passive power. _That’s_ why he made it so you can’t activate it remotely,” Connie said. Chewing on her lip, she hesitated for a moment and then reached up to pull off her helmet. Slowly she set it down beside her. “So you’re trying to figure out how to get through that lockdown.”

“Pretty much. I opened it a few times last night—was totally surprised you didn’t come for us right then honestly, I guess you were asleep—anyway, anyway, yeah, I need a way through that lockdown.” Whistler opened the package, revealed the built-in screen and drive. “Once I’m through that, I can check he hasn’t tampered with anything and we can take this back to our client.”

“…And you think I could help?”

“If everything they said you did is true? Yeah, definitely. And anyway, a fresh pair of eyes _always_ helps.”

Connie tapped her fingers against the floor. She was already running through possible solutions in her head, ways around either the lockdown or the lack of passive power. It was definitely doable, and everything they said was believable. Jepsen had been acting suspiciously evasive about the package all day and not only that, he’d passed her checks _perfectly_ —no client like Jepsen ever did that, there was always a red flag _somewhere_. It was potential clients with minimal problems that they worked with, they were under no illusions that the companies and rich people they worked for were faultless moral citizens.

Not to mention the way he sounded when he said he was familiar with this area.

So Connie found herself looking to South, a question in her eyes. With her helmet still on the only hint she got of her response was the way she sighed; at least, until she popped the seals on her helmet and gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

“Go on. Fuck it.” She shook out her hair, tucked her helmet into the curve of her waist. “This is the shit you’re really in it for and I fucking love that about you. But babe? We’re doing at _least_ three morally dubious jobs after this to make up for it. Got it?”

She was teasing, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips; Connie couldn’t help but smile in return, grabbing her helmet and tossing it at her half-heartedly. South caught it with ease.

“Alright. I’ll help.”


	17. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two thirds or so of the way in now!

“So, how’d you two get into the merc business anyway?”

Connie glanced up at Whistler out of the corner of her eye, most of her attention on the PC in front of her as she scoured through the code behind the lockdown. She didn’t respond immediately, instead continuing to scroll down and read through trying to find some sign of how to deactivate it or make it fail. So far their best bet was finding a way to trick it into thinking the package was closed, but that was proving difficult to do in practice; it _would_ be there, they just had to keep looking.

Whistler, seemingly unbothered by the lack of response, continued, “Clearly you didn’t start because of your pasts since you didn’t even know people _knew_ about that, so— what was it? What was your moment?”

“We were in the right place at the right time. Nemesis—” (“Still codenaming us? Damn.”) “—stopped someone from robbing a stall and later, a local approached us and asked for help. Said that we’d be compensated,” Connie said, never taking her eyes off the screen. There _had_ to be a way to do this. They’d already gotten to the code of the lockdown program, which Jepsen no doubt intended to be impossible, so she could find this. “We needed the money. Being on the run from the UNSC doesn’t exactly make it easy to get a normal job, so… we kept on with it.”

“Ohhh. That makes sense,” Whistler said. They remained quiet for a moment, also doing their part to find the elusive section of code that would help unravel the lockdown procedure. Already having tried various things, they’d quickly shown Connie what had failed before. For example, diverting power to the tracker when the package was closed. There was simply no way to reach the tracker with a power source. “Damn, whoever coded this is so bad they’re good. I almost hope they made it this messy on purpose, like keeping your room a mess to make it easy to hide things.”

“I’m not sure I’d give them that much credit. Nothing about this feels deliberate, it just feels clumsy,” Connie said, moving onto the next portion of code. Everything was functional, none of the code was incorrect or program breaking, but the organisation of it all was questionable at best. “This is becoming a _huge_ time-sink. If this doesn’t give us results we’ve wasted way too much time.”

“You don’t have a set rendezvous with your ship out of here, do you?”

“Well, no, but eventually they’re going to start getting suspicious. Especially now that the package is open and transmitting its signal again.”

“Shit, fair point. Well, this is our last good shot so it’s worth the time,” Whistler said, shrugging. “We’ve tried almost everything else between us.”

“Are you sure you can’t just take a copy of the data?” Connie asked. Looking at code this messy was starting to give her a headache and with her hands mostly occupied she’d slipped into chewing on her lip instead of her usual stims.

“Nope, the lockdown also locks down all the files.”

Connie heaved a sigh. “Of course it does.”

“So— what was the job? That first one you took, that got you into the business.” They’d returned to scanning through the lines upon lines of code, but it seemed that Whistler focused best when doing two things at once. Connie could tolerate it, so she didn’t mind much. At least Whistler had figured out pretty much immediately that asking about Project Freelancer wasn’t going to get them anything more than a cold shoulder.

“Clearing out a gang of thieves from a market district. They’d been stealing huge amounts of vital supplies, but no one could stop them because they were armed and willing to kill. Bunch of young adults, in the end; no training, hiding behind the fear guns instil in people,” Connie said. Whistler laughed quietly, sitting back.

“Wow, you really have got a history with this kinda job, haven’t you?”

“Is that surprising?” Connie raised a brow, cast them another side glance. She sounded amused. “Considering.”

“Well— no, fair point. Guess the whole ‘taking down a corrupt organisation and becoming fugitives from the UNSC because of it’ thing is a _bit_ of a giveaway.”

“Just a little.” Another section of code cleared. Still nothing. “This is getting ridiculous. My head hurts just trying to decipher this code.”

“Give it here, give your eyes a rest.” Whistler made ‘come here’ gesture with both hands, repeating it over and over until Connie held up her hands in defeat. They took the PC from her when she offered it, setting it on her knees and continuing to scan the code. “We have to be close.”

“We better be.” Connie sighed, leaned back on her hands and closed her eyes. Her nose wrinkled up at the faint smell of blood that lingered under it, the dried remains of her nosebleed still on her upper lip. She wet the back of her hand wiped at it, red smearing across that instead.

“How’d you get that? I didn’t hit you like, anywhere _close_ to hard enough to make your nose bleed,” Whistler said, without stopping reading. Connie wiped her hand off on the kevlar covering her gut.

“I overstrained myself. That’s all.”

“Doing that holo-thingy? That was cool as shit, by the way. Equally confusing, but cool.”

Connie sat forward again and lowered her voice. “Yes, doing the holograms, just— don’t mention that to Nemesis. It’s a miracle she didn’t notice, since I took my helmet off.”

“My lips are sealed,” Whistler said, accompanied by a mime of zipping their lips shut. The corner of Connie’s mouth twitched and she looked down to avoid being caught smiling. “Oh! I got a smile out of you! I’m finally getting somewhere!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connie said, trying and failing to suppress said smile. “Alright, since you’re asking so many questions, it’s my turn. How did you avoid our trackers, earlier? You were _right_ behind me and they didn’t go off. You didn’t even show up on my HUD until we were fighting!”

“Oh that? I installed some makeshift jammers in our suits. Confuses trackers and the like,” Whistler said. Squinting they leaned closer to the screen, then shook their head and sat back.

“Even trackers that also rely on physical indicators rather than just beacons?”

“Duh. Be useless otherwise. We pulled the beacons out of these suits the second we got them.” They tapped the trackpad twice, highlighting something, and tilted the screen towards Connie. “Does this look like what we need?”

Shuffling over Connie looked at the highlighted section. “It’s our best bet so far.”

“Nice. Okay, let’s see what we can do with this…” They tilted the screen back towards themself, started typing. “Want to ask any more questions? Still your turn.”

“Alright. Since you asked me, how did _you_ _two_ get into the mercenary business?” Connie said.

“Nice mirror question. It’s a _little_ simpler than your story, there was no starter job that made it click or anything, we chose to start working as mercs out of necessity. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but life in these surviving outer colonies kinda sucks right now. Has done for a while. The closer the war moves to the Sol system, the less attention they pay the rest of us that actually still live out here.”

“Yeah, I grew up on a colony like this. So did Nemesis.”

“So you know what I’m talking about,” Whistler said. They beckoned Castor over from where he stood by South, saving both of them from what appeared to be a very awkward silence. He walked over and sat down next to Whistler, arms draped over his knees. “Castor and I signed up, went through basic, but we got dumped in the reserves. Weren’t making enough to help our families get by. Luckily for us there are _plenty_ of opportunities around here for mercenary work. We started from the bottom and worked our way up to working independently. Isn’t that right, Darian?”

“Yep. Started off working for someone local, doing small jobs; we weren’t the only fresh shoots they were hiring out, but we climbed the ladder,” he said, shrugging. “Been at it for about four years. Got the armour about two years ago, tops? I think?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Where’d you get that shit anyway?” South sat down behind Connie, situated her between her legs. Connie leaned back into her instinctually. “Armour that high grade isn’t exactly fucking common.”

“Oh they started giving basic versions of this armour to certain battalions not long before your shit show fell apart,” Whistler said. After typing out a final alteration they handed the PC back over to Connie. “Think that’ll work?”

“Umm… let’s see…” She trailed off, focused on the changes Whistler had made.

South kissed the top of her head. “They really started handing that shit out?”

“Sure did. Only to the people on the front lines. Naturally it turned up on the black market in _days_ ,” Castor said with a chuckle. “Lucky for you, I suppose.”

“Huh. Fuck. I guess so. Never even fucking thought about how this armour should have been a dead fucking giveaway early on. Knew other experimental projects had access, assumed that’d have covered our asses,” South said. Back in the first few weeks, when they’d taken the risk of using an official military refuelling station, the workers had mentioned working with this grade of armour before, but not _often_. “Fuck. Sure isn’t fucking reassuring to realise how many fucking times our cover could have been fucking busted.”

“I vaguely remember hearing about that?” Connie said. “Through the Project’s files. Director had a lot of communication back and forth with the UNSC, most of it lies on his side but— he got information in return for those lies. Don’t think he was too happy at what he thought was rather exclusive tech being shared all of a sudden.”

A snort. “So fucking much for saving humanity at all costs, huh? Only if other people didn’t get to play with his toys, I guess. Selfish bastard.”

A few seconds later Connie sat forward and set the PC down where both she and Whistler could see it. Whistler was immediately drawn back to the matter at hand, shuffling forward and bending so they could scan the changes that Connie had made.

“So, we’ve changed the lockdown’s conditions. Switching around the markers for open vs. closed, we _should_ have made it so that when the package is open it believes it’s still shut. It was… _way_ , way harder than it should have been to make such a simple change, the person who coded this did so in the messiest most complicated way possible but— anyway, the point is, when we push through the changes it _should_ believe that the package has been closed and deactivate the lockdown,” Connie explained, hovering the cursor over the button that would push the update through.

“Or it could not work. Or set off some hidden protocol that locks it down even harder,” Whistler said as they tilted the screen towards them and joined Connie’s finger on the trackpad. “It took _hours_ to get to the point I could even see the code. This could put us back to like, square minus one.”

“…Or that.”

Whistler shrugged. “Well, only one way to find out!”

And with that, they hit the button.

It took a few seconds for anything to happen, but after those few seconds were up everything happened at once. Huge chunks of code that had previously been inaccessible under the lockdown procedure became editable; the screen on the package’s in-built data point lit up; and the LEDs on the casing all flashed green. They’d done it, the lockdown was overridden.

Whistler all but squealed, picking the PC up and quickly setting about both changing the tracker’s access code and deactivating the tracker all together—double insurance, just in case. Constantly looking back and forth between their PC and the screen in the package they made _sure_ that deactivating it wouldn’t lock down the information again; once they were done, with no sign of the lockdown reactivating, they tossed the PC to the side and focused on the package.

“Okay, okay, now we just need to check everything is here,” they said, tapping the screen and flicking through files at rapid speeds. Excited as they were they barely managed to focus on it for a few seconds before excitedly bouncing on the spot, turning to Connie and hugging her. “We did it! We got headaches from messy code but we did it!”

Caught off guard, it took Connie a long moment to return the gesture. “You did most of the work, you just needed a fresh pair of eyes in the end.”

“Oh shut up don’t downplay it, you helped a _ton_ ,” Whistler said, squeezing her and then turning to give Castor an even more excited hug. “We’re gonna get this asshole, Darian!”

“We sure are. _If_ all of the info is there,” Castor said, a subtle prompt that almost went over Whistler’s head in their excitement. A quick tap on the back and a playfully annoyed look drew their attention to it. “Alex, the info.”

“Oh! Right!” A final squeeze and they let go, grabbing the PC back. “Let’s see, let’s see…”

“So this asshole fucked up the local economy and drove this place out of business _why_ , exactly?” South said, eyebrow cocked. Whistler was absorbed in the files, muttering to themself as they went through everything there. Castor chuckled a little and playfully shoved their head— no response.

“Yeah they’re in deep. Well, the short version is: because he’s an asshole. An asshole who wants to buy up all this land and start selling half-arsed product to people because people still need it. This city hasn’t got an active market set up yet because he’s blocking that, too; chases any market that gets started away,” he said. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, he also siphons of vital supplies and equipment for money.”

“Fucking dicks. Uh— sorry we y’know, fucking stole all your evidence, I guess?”

Castor shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, not like you knew. Whistler and I’ve probably done similar shit in the past, we just do what we’re hired to do and try not to think too hard about what we might be fucking up somewhere. Can’t be responsible for everything, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. Though _some people_ could do with learning that.” A playful poke in Connie’s side earned her an elbow in retaliation and she laughed, kissed the top of her head. “Love you, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She tilted her head back to solicit a proper kiss that South was happy to provide.

“Alright, okay, everything is here.” Whistler sat back, exhaled and slumped their shoulders. “He didn’t delete _any_ of it. Kinda silly mistake on his behalf but hey, works out for us!”

“Mind if I take a look?” Connie asked, holding out a hand. “For curiosity’s sake.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Connie picked up the package as Whistler started to talk to Castor, excited and figuring out what their next move was. With South’s chin digging into her head, signifying that she was looking too, she flicked through the various files on Jepsen’s activities. It was _damning_. Jepsen and his company had created countless digital paper trails that connected them to everything that they’d done from the supply siphoning away Ignis’ vital supplies to the destruction of the local economy. Email exchanges; comm. exchanges; records detailing their actions; client lists— everything was there.

“He just… had all of this stored on his systems?”

Whistler nodded their head from side to side. “Wellll… he hid it inside secure servers that could only be accessed from the building. He does a _lot_ of PR work to make it seem like he’s the good guy.”

“Well I suppose that explains why he didn’t send up any red flags in our checks…” Connie mumbled, skimming another file. “This is more than enough to take someone down. You’ve really done some work here.”

“We sure did! Took a lot of runs to get that much shit. Plus he started expecting us, so we had to get creative,” Whistler said, grinning proudly. “Months of work, that.”

“Now we just have to hope he doesn’t disrupt us any further,” Castor said. “With the tracker gone he shouldn’t be able to find us after this, at least not in enough time to stop us, but he’s surprised us before.”

“Oh we’ll be fine!” Whistler shoved him playfully, shaking him by his shoulder. “He literally threw everything he had at us this time. He sent in _Freelancers_ , Darian! Freelancers! And we turned them onto _our side!_ This is _hilarious!_ ”

“Well, when you put it like that…” A grin spread across Castor’s face and Whistler laughed, shaking him a little more and then ruffling his hair. Castor retaliated by pulling them into a headlock, Whistler squealing and laughing as they struggled and batted as his arms with laughter filled protests.

A quiet chuckle sounded over Connie’s head and she couldn’t help but smile, too.

Something that they’d said was on her mind. Jepsen would no doubt keep attempting to retrieve this package and the data inside it, he’d do anything to stop this sort of information getting out. If they returned empty handed once again and told him that Whistler and Castor had simply left with the package then he’d either send them after them, or would fire them and get someone new to do the job for him. But maybe, just maybe, if they _didn’t_ return empty handed…

“Hey, Whistler? I have an idea.”

Castor let Whistler go and Whistler sat up—though not without giving him a final playful shove. “What idea?”

“Do you have any other drives on you? Anything you could store this amount of data in?” Connie said, gesturing at the package. Whistler’s brow furrowed.

“…Why?”

“If we return to Jepsen empty handed, he’s only going to get annoyed and/or suspicious. Without the tracker he won’t have an easy time of sending anyone after you, no, but he knows who you’re working for and I don’t think he’s going to give up easily,” she said. “But if we return with the package, he’ll think this is over. He won’t expect you to do anything.”

“But that just gives him back all his files,” Whistler said, arms folded. “…Wait, unless you mean—?” They snapped their fingers. “We can repurpose that lockdown of his. Make it lock all the data after a certain time or action. By the time his people have gotten through it—”

“—you’ll already have passed over your copy of the data and potentially have leaked it,” Connie finished, nodding. “Exactly.”

“Fucking hell, it’s like nerds in stereo. Adorable.” South chuckled, kissing the top of Connie’s head. “If you can do that, do it. If we give him his fucking package we can get out of here and never look back at that asshole ever again.”

“I can transfer it all over to my PC. Just give me a few minutes,” Whistler said, grabbing the package and their PC.

Transferring the files took about five minutes and the re-programming of the lockdown another ten. The new lockdown would activate the second time that the package was opened after its implementation; Jepsen would be able to check the contents of the drive once, find nothing amiss, only for it to lock down the second time it was opened to reclaim the data. If the state of the original code was anything to go by, his employees would have endless trouble deactivating it. Add in his ego and they had a recipe for a long delay between the package’s return and Jepsen realising what was happening, which would give Whistler and Castor plenty of time to get the information out to the public.

With everything set up they prepared to leave, replacing helmets and gathering up all of their equipment. Connie clipped the package to the back of her armour as South radioed the pilot, telling them they’d secured the package and would be at the rendezvous point in about ten minutes.

“Hey, Veritas.” Whistler caught Connie’s attention as they came off the stairs to the ground floor. They had their equipment case attached to their back but a data-pad in their hand. “You got something you can write some stuff down on? Figure we can exchange contact details, get you in on our network.”

“Oh, sure. I can send the details to myself on Nemesis and I’s text channel,” Connie said. They both stopped at the foot of the stairs, letting Castor and South—who seemed to have finally gotten past that awkward silence from earlier—head outside. “We don’t actually have any other mercenaries in our network. I’d… never thought about that.”

“You’ve been at this for nearly two years with no other mercs in your contact network? Wow, Veritas, wow,” Whistler said, tutting. Connie shook her head.

“Oh— just give me the info.”

Whistler rattled off their contact details which Connie quickly sent to herself. “Oh, and just so you know, our codenames are Actor and Piper. I’m Piper, Castor is Actor.”

“Got it,” Connie said. They started walking, following a few metres behind South and Castor. “Maybe we’ll tell you our actual names one day.”

“Oh, I’ll find them out. I’ll make it my mission to,” Whistler said. Connie laughed, shook her head. “Oh, and one more thing, before you guys go.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“There’s been chatter all across our network lately of tip-offs about Freelancers being on the rise again. Bounty hunters and other mercs are all reporting the same thing,” Whistler said, slowing their pace to match Connie’s as she started to stall. “Not related to fakes like me and Castor, either. The reports all _specifically_ relate to one of the big ten.”

Connie’s jaw fell slack; she found herself stumbling over words, trying to string together a sentence, a question, _something_ —

“Hey, Veritas, c’mon! We only got ten minutes to get to the LZ!” South called, waving back at them. “Hurry your cute butt up, you!”

“Right, right, sorry!” Connie sighed, turned to Whistler. “Talk to you at some point?”

“Send me a message later, tell us how everything went down with Jepsen.”

“Will do. Good luck.”

“You too. And thanks, again.”

Connie jogged to catch up with South, apologising again and explaining how Whistler was just giving her their contact details. There was no time for anything else, even when running navigating the streets back towards the LZ took the remaining nine minutes and most of the trip back was spent making sure their plan wasn’t going to backfire spectacularly. By the time they were back at Jepsen’s building they’d rehearsed their story at least ten times.

Jepsen welcomed them back with open arms and a complete U-turn of an attitude. He was suddenly all smiles and congratulations, acting as if he _hadn’t_ spent the past day and a half disrespecting them and covering his own ass. Connie handed over the package to a delighted Jepsen who opened it to check that the drive was still intact before shutting it, leaving it sat on his desk as he asked for details.

Their story was simple. They’d arrived at the commercial district, searched it and found ‘Crimson’ and ‘Maroon’. A fight ensued in which they’d easily defeated the other mercenaries, who then fled. From there they’d retrieved the package without any further incident, though the package appeared to have been meddled with. Connie had been unable to determine in what way.

He bought it.

Within an hour they’d received payment and been sent on their way, the job completed and Jepsen finally off their backs. Connie was fairly confident that within the next few days they’d see news about the leak and Jepsen’s arrest, or at the very least the public outrage that might eventually lead to his company’s collapse.

South flopped back onto their bed, looking upside down at Connie. “Whatcha doin’?”

Connie reached over and started petting her hair without even looking, still typing with her other hand. “Sending a message to Whistler, to let them know how it went.”

“Ohhh. Those two weren’t so bad, in the end. Y’know, besides impersonating our old sort-of squadmates and trying to kill us.” South hummed, closing her eyes and nuzzling into the hair petting.

“Well, it means we have our first set of other mercs in our network now, might open up some new opportunities. Fill up the holes left by some regulars we have to drop like Symons.”

“Ugh, _Symons_.”

“I know.”

“Hey, speaking of— I’m fucking holding you to us doing three fun, morally dubious jobs after this,” South said, opening one eye. Connie shook her head with a smile on her face, playfully shoved her head to the side. “Wow, rude.”

“We’ll do those three jobs, don’t worry. You can help me pick, later,” she said, prompting a kiss to her hand from South. “Now go on, go set the auto-pilot.”

“Ugh, fine.” With one more kiss to her hand she rocked back and forth until she could rock back upright, stretching out and standing up. “I think my bad shoulder needs a little work after that fall from the fucking _roof_ earlier, help me with that when I’m back?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks babe, love you,” South said. She ducked into the cockpit, left the door open behind her.

“Love you too, Tasha.”

Connie watched for a moment, making sure that she didn’t come back out. When she was sure she was sat in the pilot’s seat, could hear the tell-tale beeping of the controls, she closed the message to Whistler, pulled up the database—

And re-implemented her monitoring program, to tell her when there was activity.


	18. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter involves a fair bit of Halo lore being tied in. I did quite a lot of research but do bare with me if you're familiar with Halo lore, I'm not super familiar with the intricacies and have definitely simplified at points.

Weeks passed by, clients were dropped and new ones were hired as they played damage control with their histories and expanded their network to compensate. Symons and Jepsen had been only the immediately visible symptoms of a much deeper problem, the centre of a branching web of contacts that all had to be cut loose one by one. Without being able to isolate the source of the information, they couldn’t afford to take any chances.

In the end, the money couldn’t outweigh the risks.

Replacing those clients that they dropped was much easier than Connie had first anticipated, something that could mostly be attributed to the newest additions to their network—Whistler and Castor. Since they went their separate ways back on Ignis they’d kept in contact, encrypted messages and video links rerouted through so many networks that it became untraceable. Whistler had filled them in on all the details, of how their work together had brought Jepsen’s entire operation screeching to a halt within days, leaving Ignis to start repairing the damage that had been done. Within a month, the colonists had begun building expansive marketplaces and communities, finally having the chance to become self-sufficient in the way that all surviving outer colonies had in the UNSC’s absence. The relief in the voices of Castor and Whistler when they shared the news was tangible.

It was their contact with Whistler and Castor that had let their network expand, filling the gaps left by dropped clients, and then some, in no time at all. Having other mercenaries in your network was an invaluable resource that they’d never tapped into before, never having even _thought_ about the potential effect it would have. Before now their encounters with other mercs had been minimal, almost competitive; other mercenaries would steal something or cause their clients trouble and they’d reverse it, steal the item back or chase them away.

Whistler and Castor had two years of mercenary work over them. Their client base was vast and varied, supplying more work opportunities than one pair of mercenaries could ever accept—so, they shared. A network full of not only their clients but other mercenaries meant that they could pass work on, give tip-offs and accept jobs passed onto them by others. A web of people who’d fallen into mercenary work to survive, creating a community to keep each other afloat.

Seemed like that was happening a lot, these days.

“What happens if two members of the network end up on opposite sides of the same job?” Connie asked one day, when she and Whistler were video chatting. Whistler’s face took up half of her screen whilst the other half was filled by a program she was coding for a client—the conversation had _started_ with them teaching her a few self-taught encryption tricks, but had quickly become distanced from the subject by their shared habit of jumping topics at random.

Whistler waved a hand. “ _Oh we all just agree there’s no hard feelings if we have to disrupt or fight each other, or undo each other’s work. I mean, we’ve got no personal investment in these jobs we do at_ all, _y’know? No skin off our backs if the clients don’t get what they want, so long as we get paid._ ”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“ _This one friend of ours—goes by the codename Glitch—ended up on the opposite side of one job where we had to literally kick the poor girl’s ass. Had bruises for weeks. Still no hard feelings,_ ” Whistler said with a shrug. Tying their dreadlocks up into a ponytail, they grinned at Connie. “ _No different than how we met, really. Had aches and shit for ages after you and Nemesis handed our asses to us on a silver platter._ ”

“Well, if you will try and fight a pair of highly trained agents…” She matched that grin with a lopsided smile and a teasing glint in her eye. Whistler retorted with a stuck out tongue and Connie gasped in mock offense. “ _Whistler_.”

“ _Hehe. You had a go at that false negative trick yet?_ ” One of Whistler’s signatures, a twist on something Connie used in most of her programs. Instead of programming the system to throw up false positives, designed to trick the attacker into believing they’d found the information and delay them, it would throw up a false negative when supplied with the correct code. “ _It’s a really useful little trick, no one ever expects it. People come to expect false positives before long, but they never question a negative._ ”

“I’m going to try implementing it on this program I’m working on now. Test out my version of the code,” Connie said. Turning her gaze back to the half-written code on the other side of her screen, she started typing again; Whistler had explained the trick’s basics, she just had to put her own spin on it. “Honestly I can’t believe I’ve never thought of this. You’re right, questioning a negative isn’t something that ever comes to mind; if a system rejects a code, the code’s wrong.”

“ _Unless it’s not!_ ” They snapped their fingers. “ _Simple, but effective. I usually give it three tries on the right code before it works, most people will give up after the second go even if they were smart enough to try a second time._ ”

“You’re a little bit of a genius, anyone ever told you that?”

“ _Oh, just a few people_ ,” Whistler said, winking.

There was a natural pause in the conversation, a comfortable moment of quiet interrupted only by Connie’s soft humming, the tapping of keys on both sides and the faint sounds of South working on her armour. It was a minute or so before the hiss of an opening door really broke the peace; Whistler didn’t even lift their head, focused on their work.

“ _Darian’s back! Hey, Dar, toss me the fudges I asked you for._ ” A packet flew into view and Whistler caught it in one hand. “ _Thanks!_ ”

“ _Talking to Veritas and Nemesis?_ ” Castor said. The camera shook as he dumped something on the bed Whistler sat on—a backpack full of supplies.

Whistler, now busy tugging open their pack of fudge bites, nodded. “ _Just Veritas at the moment, Nemesis is— what_ is _Nemesis doing?_ ”

“Armour maintenance!” South called from behind the curtain.

“ _Oh that’s boring. Couldn’t stop that to come talk to us, huh Nem? Veritas is going to have to pass on Castor’s weekly reminder that you pulled him off a roof on for… him…_ ” Whistler trailed off. When Connie looked, they’d turned their gaze away from their screen and up to Castor. “ _What’s wrong? You look— what’s happened?_ ”

“ _Reach fell._ ”

Two words. Two simple words and yet Connie felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. The quiet, repetitive scrapes and dings of metal tools on metal armour fell silent, the air now as heavy as those two simple words. Two _simple_ words— just like that, everything seemed different.

“ _…what?_ ” Whistler’s voice was small, their brow high and eyes wide. “ _What do you mean, Reach fell?_ ”

There was a sigh off screen. Castor dropped into view, sat himself down beside Whistler and draped an arm around their shoulders. “ _News just reached us. The battle’s over. Covvies won, glassed it._ ”

“ _But— but Reach is—_ ”

The curtain around the bed was thrown back; Connie jumped out of her skin, a hand flew to her chest. South’s shoulders were tight, her fist clutching at the material of the curtain.

“Reach is our last major line of defence before the Sol system,” she said, the low disturbance of a growl beneath her words. Connie could only offer her a hand, take hers and coax her over so she could wrap her arms around her too. South knelt beside her, encircled her waist with her arms and buried her face in her shoulder. “We’re fucked.”

“ _Yeah. Yeah, what— what Nem said,_ ” Whistler muttered. They threw their head back over Castor’s arm, dragged their hands down their face. “ _Beginning of the end._ ”

Connie couldn’t find the right words, or any words of her own at all.

But— beginning of the end; that sounded about right.

From there, the news only seemed to get worse. The first half of September was filled with news of heavy losses; even successes came with that all too familiar tagline of ‘there were only a handful of survivors’. More colonies were lost, outer and inner alike, whilst other monumental losses of life were reported without the name of a battle attached.

Even the triumphant victory of the famed Spartans in the late days of September—the biggest loss the Covenant had seen to date and humanity’s greatest ever success—meant little when, within a month, the Covenant had found Earth and the battle for the human race’s homeworld had begun.

The flow of news got shaky, from that time on. October passed with no news of a success or a failure in the fight and November began the same—losses were reported and yet the details were vague, like there were things going on that the UNSC wasn’t ready for them to know. By the middle of the month, by the time Freelancer’s anniversary had crept up on them, the news had slowed to the crawl of a dying man.

And yet despite all of the bad news; despite losses that were impossible to imagine; despite the penultimate days of the war creeping up on humanity bit by bit— life had to go on.

There was no fighting here, in the cluster of outer colonies that Connie and South had found themselves in. Radiance and Luminescence, Ignis and more—these were some of the survivors, the outer colonies that had somehow escaped the Covenant’s wrath and faced more danger from the UNSC abandoning them than they had from enemy forces. Here, in this bubble of relative safety and distance from the fighting, there was little choice but to keep on going. You didn’t stop needing food or water or money to pay for those things just because the world was coming to an end lightyears and lightyears away.

It was easier to pretend that nothing had changed and keep going about your life than it was to try to understand what the future would hold.

So that’s what they found themselves doing.

Mid-December, almost a month after the second anniversary of the Project’s fall had passed uneventfully. Another job had passed them by and South was sat in one of the two remaining seats, scrubbing her armour clean of blood. They were on some of their last bottles of cleaning solution and cans of spray paint; with no way of knowing if they could get more, they’d started only using them for clean ups that really needed them.

“You know,” there was a flash of movement in her periphery as Connie sat beside her, “I appreciate you defending my honour and all that, but there’s _probably_ a point where almost killing clients starts _losing_ us clients, instead of intimidating people into being good ones.”

She picked up a piece of her own blood stained armour and started to wipe it clean, scrubbing harder at those patches that had already dried on.

South chuckled, tilted her head at her. “Says the one who fucking _helped_ me with the almost killing this time.”

“Well,” a smile flashed across her face, bright and cheeky, “this one _was_ a whole new level of asshole. I didn’t deny that.”

“Heh, that you fucking didn’t.” South kissed the top of her head with an exaggerated ‘mwah’, delighting in the way it made Connie light up with a laugh. She nuzzled the very same spot, set down her cleaning cloth so she could wrap an arm around her shoulders and hold her there. Connie leaned into her security and warmth in the way she always did, and South held her a little tighter because like this, at least, she felt she could protect her. “Also you’re fucking mad if you think I’m ever gonna stop beating assholes up for being cocks to you, you fuckin’ got that?”

“I got it.” Tilting her head back, she kissed South’s jaw. “Thank you. My protector.”

“Fucking always.” Another kiss and South pulled her arm away, though it ran over her back and settled on her hip for a moment first. Grabbing the cloth, she returned to cleaning. “Just like you always fucking look out for me.”

A kiss pressed to her cheek. “Someone has to stop your impulsiveness getting you hurt.”

“Me? Impulsive? Nah,” South grinned, “that doesn’t fucking sound like me at all. Sure you got the right girl?”

Giggles filled the cold Pelican bay and South felt a little warmer, unable to wipe the grin away from her face even if she’d wanted to. Scrubbing away at the blood was dull and monotonous, but Connie leaned her weight against her side whilst she hummed softly under her breath, and that made it a little less so.

They worked quietly for an unmeasurable time—as time usual was here on the ship—before Connie set down her final piece of armour. With a soft kiss on South’s shoulder she stood, her hand coming to rest over the same spot.

“I’m going to have a look through that client’s files, see if there’s anything worth pulling,” she said, thumb rubbing small circles over the now old scar there. “The usual.”

“Mm’kay.” South rested her cheek against her hand. “Still don’t know what you think you’re going to do with anything you do fucking find, babe. Comm. relays to the UNSC have been down for fucking weeks, for all we fucking know there’s no UNSC _left_.”

Connie sighed, wandered across the room and deposited herself on the bed. “I know. It’s— _habit_ , more than anything. Safety in routine, you know?”

Couldn’t argue with that.

Upon opening the PC, Connie was greeted by a communication alert from Whistler. Pulling it up she set a program to decrypt their latest encryption and let it run in the background as she started digging through their latest client’s files. She switched when it finished, letting her programs handle the files instead.

[ _Hey Connie!! (And Nat!!!) How you been? Darian and I are back home right now, checking up on our families and all that. Came back about a week ago. Woulda called you, but things’ve been kinda hectic._

 _Ignis is doing good, well, as good as it can be doing all things considered! Running low on some luxuries and all that, seeing as there’s been no supply shipments from the Inner colonies for_ months _now. Neighbouring colonies are all trying to help each other out but there’s some shit no one out here produces, so we’re having to make do._ ]

That wasn’t surprising. The numerous supply compartments on the Pelican were running low on everything except the necessities, leaving many of them empty and most of them half-filled at best. They were feeling the supply drought, too.

[ _Though! Speaking of! I’ve been hearing rumours that the fighting is_ over _, that we_ won _. Nothing confirmed yet, nothing so concrete as that, but there’s been whispers. Soldiers who’ve run back home as soon as the fighting was done, messages on secret channels, you know the kind of things. Course no one has any explanation for how these soldiers got here or how these channels survived_ b u t _… it’s something, right? A little bit of hope? Shit seemed so hopeless as soon as the Covvies broke past Reach, let alone when they got into Sol but!!! This is hope!_ ]

A tentatively relieved smile tugged at the corners of Connie’s lips and she released a breath, dragging her hands down her face and then back up through the long side of her hair, over the prickles of the shaved side. Despite all the bad news she’d done her best to hold onto a _little_ spark of hope, which she could now feel growing just as tentatively as her smile. They might not know for weeks yet if it was true or not, or they might know in a few days—there was no way to know, no way to be sure how quickly communications would be back up even if the fighting had ended.

But Whistler was right, there was hope.

[ _Least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Darian doesn’t know if he believes it. (oh and he said to tell Nat he’s still walking funny from being thrown off that roof)_

_How’s your investigation going? Any luck figuring out which of the big ten has been popping back up yet?_

_Oh and I passed that job you passed to us onto Viper, you know her._

_Talk to you for real soon, hopefully!_

_Alex :D_ ]

Connie shook her head, suddenly grateful that South hadn’t been reading the message with her. She’d have to tell Whistler to be more careful about mentioning the fact she’d started looking into PFL again—as terrible as she felt for breaking her promise, South finding out wouldn’t help. It wasn’t as if she expected anything to come of having the program active again, especially not now. There hadn’t been any activity in the PFL files since the Covenant glassed Reach—Project Freelancer was little more than a stain on a windshield that had already shattered when it came to the UNSC’s priorities after that. Looking and monitoring was more for her peace of mind than anything else and, seeing as it only did the opposite for South’s, it was better that she didn’t know.

Her program was still running through the client’s files automatically so she started writing her reply, telling Whistler about the jobs they’d done recently and their own issue with supplies, before thanking them for the information about the war and going to talk about her reignited investigation into PFL.

Focused on her screen as she was she didn’t notice South had put down her armour until the bed sank and a weight dropped onto her legs. “Got a message from Whistler?”

Connie hit send mid-word and pulled up the client’s files.

“Yep,” she said, pushing down her screen so she could peer over at South flopped unceremoniously over her legs. “Castor said he’s still walking funny from falling off that roof.” South laughed. “Are you two ever going to stop that joke?”

“Nah. Never,” South said, grinning up at her. Connie playfully rolled her eyes, setting the PC down to her side and tapping South’s head.

“Gonna come up here?”

South rolled over and shuffled up so that her head rested on Connie’s chest, wrapped her arms tight around her torso and cuddled up to her. Connie’s fingers danced over her undercut, enjoying the sensation and the way it made her skin tingle. Brushing the front of her hair out of her face she pressed a kiss to her forehead, hummed softly.

“What else did they say?” South asked.

“They’re back on Ignis again, checking on their families and such. They’re having the same supplies issue we are, luxuries are running out with no way of knowing when or if they’ll ever be available again,” Connie said, nuzzling the top of her head.

“So the usual doom and gloom shit, huh?”

“Well— not entirely.” She smiled. “Whistler said there’s been whispers that the fighting is over, that the war is ending and we _won_. God knows _how_ but— that’s what’s being said.”

South wasn’t like Connie, she wasn’t the kind to hold onto hope when everything around her seemed to be screaming that it was hopeless. It was easier to live with what was happening if she was honest with herself, if she was realistic about what was going on. It wasn’t that she gave up, that she expected the worst—of course it would be _good_ if things turned out better than she was expecting and living every day waiting for everything to get worse was no better for her than false hope—it was just being realistic.

So there was no existing spark of hope to grow at the sound of those words, no, the hope that rose in her heart was new.

“For real?” She looked up at Connie, eyes wide. “Like, for actual fucking real?”

Connie nodded, her smile growing. “It’s not confirmed, but— yeah. Yeah, for actual real.”

“Holy shit. Holy fucking _shit_.” She sounded almost awed, a grin spreading across her face despite herself. Nestling her head into Connie’s chest and holding her a little tighter, she let herself relax. “We might’ve fucking _won_ , holy _shit_. I never— holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Connie said, “holy shit is about right.”

Connie played with South’s hair as she buried her face in her chest, arms secure around her and body curled up until she was almost as small as Connie. The embrace was familiar and encompassing. Connie felt safe, warm; the pressure of South’s tight hold was pleasant, her hair was soft between her fingers, a dull thrum of energy and positive sparks ran under her skin. South felt grounded, calm; holding Connie let her settle, the beat of her heart was quiet but reassuring, her restless energy was subdued.

They lay like that for hours.

It was only a matter of days before more concrete reports started coming in about what had happened. The details were still unclear, whatever it was that had finally caused the end of the fighting was shrouded in conflicting, sometimes fantastical, stories and information that simply wasn’t released— but the war was _over_. Somehow, despite all of the odds being stacked against them, humanity had emerged from the deadliest conflict in human history _alive_.

Not victorious. Though the reports would call it a human victory and though people would talk of how humanity had emerged triumphant from nearly three decades of war, it was soon apparent that it was hard to call this a _real_ victory. Billions of people had died, with estimates placing it as high as over half of the human population pre-war, and countless colonies had been left uninhabitable with only those considered most important likely to see re-terraforming any time soon.

Humanity had survived, but it hadn’t won. No one had won.

When they next went planetside—for the first time since news ran dry back in November—they no longer found themselves hearing about the Project at every turn. Interest had waned, who cared about some washed up magic bullet program that didn’t even survive to see the end of the fighting? No, the air was now filled with talk of the heroic Spartans; the Battle of Earth; the implosion of the Covenant; and the official end to the hostilities which danced tantalisingly on the horizon. Twenty-seven years of war, over.

There were kids, teens and young adults all stepping out into their first days of a human civilisation free from war with the Covenant.

South walked with Connie’s arm wrapped around her hips, her head leant against her side and her own arm draped loosely around her in return. They walked amongst overjoyed people of all ages, races, genders—everywhere you turned there was chatter; people embracing; those who’d only just heard the news. It seemed like there wasn’t a soul without talk of the war on their lips. Connie and South would share glances as they listened, never interjecting unless spoken to first.

At one stall, their attempts to hand over money for their supplies were met with refusal by a man who insisted the only form of payment he’d take was an answer to, “—what’re you lovely pair going to do now the war’s over?”

“Oh, this and that. Travelling, maybe. Finally get off world again,” South said, smirking as Connie had to hide a laugh behind a cough. “Heard some of the nearby colonies survived, they seem like a good place to start.”

Satisfied, the stall owner had wished them luck and sent them on their way.

Talk like that was common. When they sat down in a café, with warm drinks to fight off the cold and bags full of supplies at their feet, everyone around them seemed to be talking about what they were going to do now the war had finally ended. Hopeful conversations filled with plans that ranged from simple but meaningful to dramatic and questionable. People were ready to move on with their lives.

Jokingly, South mimicked what she heard around them. “So, what do you want to do now that the war’s over, darling?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Connie said, a smile on her face as she played along, “do like you said, travel. Spread our wings and fly away, now civilian travel is open again.”

“You say that like people didn’t have their ways.” South raised a brow, that smirk of hers hidden behind her cup of cocoa. “Wonder how far we could go? Radiance, maybe?”

Connie gave a mock gasp. “You have such _high_ expectations. Radiance? What an adventure.”

It was all they could do not to start laughing. Connie bit down on her lip and covered her mouth, whilst South nearly snorted into her drink. Ridiculous, really; after over two years of travelling in a stolen military ship, ricocheting between the colonies that surrounded them, it felt so novel.

After all, it wasn’t as if the war ending changed their lives all that much.

“No but, seriously,” South said, after finally calming down, “what’s next for us? Does anything change, or do we just— keep going as we fucking are?”

“Well… I don’t think anything’s going to change.” Connie held her mug between both hands, warming her palms and fingers. “Do you want to stop working as mercenaries? Do we even have that choice?”

“Well, we always got a choice. Not a fucking simple one, but we got it. But— nah, I don’t think I wanna stop. This work’s fun, y’know? It gets us paid, keeps us occupied, keeps us on the move. Not like we have much of a fucking different life to go back to. Project Freelancer made fucking sure of that.”

Connie nodded. “Yeah, that’s… pretty much how I feel, too. All this means is that we don’t have to worry about this area getting found by the Covenant now and that maybe we’ll have other supplies again soon.”

“Exactly. This is our life now and I kinda like it.”

“I think kinda is understating it,” Connie said, raising a brow. South just grinned, taking another sip of her drink.

“Guilty as charged. What can I fuckin’ say, I’m an action-y kinda girl.”

“And I love you.” Connie leaned across the table and kissed her forehead. “I like it too. We have each other, our work… not so bad a life, really, is it?”

South grinned. “Nope. Not at fucking all.”


	19. Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting to write and post this chapter since I started this fic.

It was late. Well into the early hours, by their personal cycle. South was sound asleep in the bay, buried beneath a pile of blankets to fight off the cold—the ship’s atmospheric systems needed repairs that couldn’t be done until they landed—but, try as she might, Connie had struggled to join her. Eventually she’d given up, wrapped herself in a blanket and ducked into the cockpit. That was what felt like hours ago and she had since lost track of the time as she sat there, huddled in the pilot’s seat wide awake.

The auto-pilot kept them moving towards Luminescence at a steady pace, but the scenery didn’t change much. Endless swathes of blackness and distant stars, surrounding them from all angles. She often found herself up here, watching space go by. Ever since that first time she’d really looked at it again—nearly two years ago now, the day of their first hit—she’d find herself in the cockpit when she wanted time alone. The quiet made it easy to think and over time, the view had become comforting. In those months where she’d given up the database, stopped worrying so actively about the others, it had been so easy to look out at those stars and only remember the good times with Maine and Wash.

Sighing, she rolled a small string of beads back and forth inside a fist.

It felt like she was regressing.

Ever since the Jepsen job, ever since they’d been so casually outed as Freelancers and ever since the possibility of other agents still being out there had been raised— it seemed as if all of the progress she’d made had started to crumble. Finally, she’d felt like she was moving on! She hadn’t looked at the database in eight months, hadn’t even _thought_ about it for four, but then she just _had_ to see if she could figure out who those Freelancers were and then Whistler told her about the rumours, which only made matters _worse_ and—

Before she knew it another four months had passed and she’d found nothing; there’d been no news and no activity at _all_ in the Freelancer files—the UNSC still had bigger, more important things to deal with and wouldn’t return to the  investigation until the peace agreements were settled, if then. Yet she kept the program active; she kept looking for signs; and she still hadn’t told South.

All of the progress she and South had made towards undoing what Freelancer had tried to ingrain, all their efforts to communicate better than they had before— and there she was, keeping secrets again. It wasn’t as though she’d simply stopped communicating with her at all, the past week had been full of important discussions about the future and she was still telling her about her nightmares and other worries, but… it didn’t make her feel any better.

But telling her didn’t feel like an option, because unlike her, South seemed to be thriving.

Two years of being free from the Project had let South come so far. Connie had watched her unpack the ways that the Project had manipulated her, watched her really come into her own as she finally got to spread her wings and do the things she was _good_ at. There’d been bumps along the way, but South had made the effort and she’d made _progress_. She’d been self-aware enough to admit that looking back all the time was only making it harder for her to cope with what had happened and, since the Jepsen job had stirred it all back up, she’d even broken away from complete silence about the Project, started talking about it again.

Whilst Connie had started to fall back on old behaviours.

Safety in routine, until that routine didn’t feel safe anymore but you couldn’t snap yourself out of it.

The beads rattled lightly, knocking together as she rolled them back and forth over her palm and up her fingers. Over and over, the smooth sensation of rolling beads on her skin and the oddly pleasant sound of the dull clinks they made when they collided. She breathed deep.

She focused back on the darkness outside. Watched the stars and tried to recognise some, remember the names Maine had taught her. Even surprised herself by remembering a couple, memories that brought back the reassuring gruffness of Maine’s voice and the way those names would slip off their tongue in a way normal words never did.

Bit by bit, she calmed herself down.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped her legs out from the warmth of her blanket cocoon. Flinching as her toes touched the cold floor she retracted them briefly, before slowly setting her feet down more firmly and pushing herself up. She tugged the blanket tighter around herself, speed-walked through to the bay with one mission: getting a nice hot cup of coffee or cocoa—whichever her hand touched first.

Whilst waiting on the water to heat up she hopped from foot to foot, rubbing the soles of her freezing feet against her leg whenever they weren’t on the ground. Muttering ‘come on’ under her breath she watched until it was hot enough and grabbed the kettle, poured in the water and stirred the cocoa. Breathing in deep she took in the scent, bringing the mug up to her face with both hands wrapped tight around it.

Hopefully by the time she finished drinking, she’d be drowsy enough to sleep.

Turning heel she headed back towards the cockpit, mug raised to her lips and the hot steam of the cocoa warming her—

A quiet beep.

An alert.

Confusion creased her brow. Ducking through the curtain surrounding their bed she stepped over to the bedside crate where her PC and data-pad sat. She crouched down, wincing as her knees touched the floor, and set her mug down. Her data-pad’s screen flickered off again, but when she unlocked it there was a notification from—

Breath caught in her throat.

She opened the PC, pulled it onto her lap and sat herself back against the side of the bed. Her fingers couldn’t move fast enough, breaking through all the usual security and— the database, untouched for months by that point and yet—

The program wasn’t designed to alert her to UNSC activity, even after all this time. No, she could check for UNSC updates easy enough on her own. It was configured to only tell her about _unusual_ activity—access from an unusual access point; changes to documents outside the usual parameters; multiple failed attempts before gaining entry. For it to have thrown up an alert now—

Maybe somebody had keyed in their access code wrong, after months of not accessing the database. Maybe they’d opened up a new access point, further back inside the boundaries of the Inner Colonies. Maybe—

Finally the database loaded.

Her eyes were drawn immediately to the indicators of files that had been recently opened. Most of them were about the Project’s facilities, off-site buildings and storage warehouses and those that weren’t were about the Alpha or the Director himself, except—

The Alpha Squad register.

Connie pushed the lid down, found herself clinging to the rim of it for dear life as she stared blindly at the curtain ahead of her.

No changes had been made. None of the files that had been accessed had been edited, or it would have shown that too. Any doubt that this was someone besides the UNSC faded; the UNSC would have little need to access that register unless they had something to change, or any of the other files for that matter. None of the information was easily linked to each other, there was no obvious reason to access all of those files at once.

Her mind started to cycle through the ways someone besides the UNSC could have gained access.

None of the other agents had the level of skill needed to hack into the UNSC’s systems without being noticed. There was a reason Connie had been recruited, her skill-set was unique. Without knowing the ins and outs of the system the UNSC used and the best ways to get around or through it, you didn’t stand a chance. She couldn’t imagine a way that anyone—

Unless…

A little poking around gave her the access point used by the other person in the system with her: an old Project Freelancer facility within this cluster of colonies, a watchpoint for one of the old simulation bases. All of those facilities had been seized by the UNSC back when the investigation started and tied into the system, but had likely been left unguarded since the investigation stalled; at best, they had a couple of guards. Easy enough for most members of the Project to take out. It was obscure enough to trigger the activity alert, but not enough to raise the alarm at the UNSC.

The only question left was _who_ , an answer that came to her much more quickly than the others.

Only one person had access codes with enough clearance to get them into the central system.

_Carolina._

She threw the lid open again and, barely thinking about what she was doing, pulled up the list of Alpha Squad’s statuses. A few keystrokes, and ‘Agent Connecticut’ became ‘Agent CT’.

It was all she could do not to slam the lid closed.

An alert popped up in the corner of her screen. Whoever was in the database with her—Carolina, she reminded herself, _Carolina_ was in the database with her—must have seen the updated indicator, because she’d opened the file. It was an innocuous change, almost too small to notice, certainly not enough to trigger any alarms with the UNSC later but— Carolina would know what it meant.

Carolina _had_ to know what it meant.

Seconds felt like hours. She could feel herself holding her breath. Even if Carolina saw it, how was she supposed to tell her that she had? What was she supposed to—

_Agent CT: MIA_

[UPDATED]

_Agent CT: AWOL_

The PC lid slammed and it fell to the ground.

Both hands flew to cover her mouth in a vain attempt to stop herself from hyperventilating; her breathing came shaky and fast and uncontrollable. Her heart pounded a mile a minute.

Carolina was _alive_.

Carolina was alive and now she knew that Connie was too.

She didn’t know whether she wanted to flap her hands or tear her hair out, happy stim or have a breakdown. This wasn’t something she’d expected, this wasn’t an eventuality she’d planned for; checking the database was for peace of mind and then it was a habit, she’d never expected it to come to anything! She’d long given up hope of any actual results, but— Carolina was _alive_.

Was she the member of the big 10 that had reappeared so suddenly months ago?

Could this mean that the others were okay, too?

Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, pounding against her ribcage and echoing in her ears. What was she supposed to do now? What _could_ she do now? What—

A gentle touch brushed a stray hair out of her face and she _squealed_.

South hushed her. “Hey, hey, shhhh, it’s just me…”

South. It was just South. Of course it was just South.

Tired and concerned looking, she peered over the edge of the bed at Connie where she sat curled into a tight ball. The same hand that had brushed her hair away cupped the side of her face, thumb rubbing over her cheek.

“What’s wrong babe…? What you doing up?” she mumbled, rubbing her eye on the sheets. “You okay?”

“I— yeah, yeah I’m—” it took her a moment to compose herself and, even then, her voice shook, “I-I’m okay. I just— had another nightmare, that’s all. Just— just a silly nightmare.”

More lies.

She didn’t know what else to do.

“Oh, oh babe. C’mere. Come right the fuck here.” South beckoned her up with open arms and Connie didn’t hesitate for a moment; she leant up, threw her arms around South’s neck and clung on tight as she pulled her up. When in reach, her legs wrapped around her hips. “Y’wanna talk about it?”

“Not— Not right now. Sorry.”

“Shhh, nah, that’s okay babe… that’s fucking fine.”

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other around her back and head, clutching her close to her chest and holding her secure. South hushed her gently, running her fingers through her hair and rubbing slow circles on her lower back. Every muscle in Connie’s body seemed tight, a tension that didn’t start to fade until almost five minutes had passed, at which point her breathing finally started to even out.

Eventually, there was the sound of soft snores.

South smiled, kissed the top of her head. “There you go… there you go…” she whispered, closing her eyes. Within a minute, she’d fallen back to sleep.

 

Connie couldn’t settle. The days that followed her communication with Carolina—if it could even be called that—found her restless and distracted. She spent the morning after picking at her breakfast and barely ate a bite and even though, by lunchtime, she regained her appetite, it didn’t go unnoticed.

Neither did the fact she was so jumpy, or how often she zoned out.

Or that abandoned cocoa cup, that didn’t quite fit her story.

South was worried.

It wasn’t hard to see that there was something Connie wasn’t telling her; South knew Connie better than she often felt she knew herself and that night hadn’t been the first sign that something was wrong. Ever since they’d met Whistler and Castor something had clearly been on Connie’s mind; the more time that passed, the more it seemed to bother her. South didn’t know why she didn’t want to talk about it but, whatever the reason and no matter the worst case scenarios her mind liked to toss up, she didn’t rush her. Because she trusted her.

When Connie was ready to tell her, she’d tell her.

Until then, she just kept an eye on her. She didn’t have to know the details to be there for her.

Three days later they landed on Luminescence. It would be a quick stopover, time to fix the atmospheric systems, refuel and maybe top up on a few less vital supplies they hadn’t been able to get at their last stop. Parked, as usual, in an old abandoned industrial district a short ways from the city, they checked what they needed and made a trip into the city on their first night. Supplies, fuel and parts—they were all set by the next morning.

“You sure you don’t wanna come outside and watch me work on this shitcan? Get some fresh air. Earplugs in, course, but— y’know.” South picked up her box of tools and parts, glanced at Connie where she sat on the bed.

Connie shook her head. “I got enough fresh air yesterday. I have some work I need to get done for a client, so—less distractions the better for now. Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be.” She ducked over to the bed, kissed the top of Connie’s head. “You fucking _sure_ you’re okay? Didn’t seem like you slept well last night.”

“I’m okay. I promise,” Connie assured her, tilting her head back to catch her in a proper kiss. “Go on, I’ll pop out to see your hot mechanic act later. Promise.”

“Mm, okay.” South dipped back for another peck on the lips, nuzzled her nose against Connie’s and grinned at the little laugh it got her. “I’m gonna fucking hold you to that. Don’t come out after too long, and I’m gonna fuckin’ come in here and show off my hot mechanic look myself.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

South winked. “Ooo, would you now?”

Connie laughed, playfully kicked out at her. “Oh, shush you, stop flirting and go fix our heating.”

“But then you won’t have to snuggle up to me for warmth anymore,” South said, grin wide and smug and her hand on her hip. Connie rolled her eyes.

“You know very well I’ll do that anyway. Now go! Shoo!” She flicked her hands at her. “Shoo!”

“Rude.”

With a final stolen kiss and that grin still plastered on her face, South headed outside, sliding down the ramp on her heels. Connie shook her head at her, a smile on her lips. She was ridiculous, but she loved her.

It would take her most of the morning and early afternoon to fix those systems, no doubt; she’d learned a lot about Pelican maintenance over the past two years, but with every unique problem that came up she had to teach herself something new. Connie expected that the bay’s temperature would fluctuate significantly as she tested it, at which point she’d take her cue to pop outside for a while.

Within minutes, the noisy work outside had begun. It was dull enough from inside the bay, but South wouldn’t be able to hear much else.

Sighing, Connie grabbed her PC and checked the time. A day previous she’d sent Whistler a message, asking to talk to them via video chat today at around this time. She loaded up the chat program, made sure the signal was set to be diverted, and waited.

Right on time, it began to ring.

Whistler’s waving hand greeted her, followed by their grinning face. “ _Hey Connie!_ ”

“Hey, Alex,” Connie said, already rolling the beads back and forth over her palm. At least she wasn’t picking at her scar. “Sorry about this, I just— something happened. With the whole… Project, thing.”

“ _Oh holy shit, did you find something?_ ” They sat up, leant forward. “ _Is it about that other one of the big ten? Have you told Nat? Have you—”_

“Alex, one question at a time,” Connie said, gently. Whistler raised a hand to their lips.

“ _Oops. Sorry, sorry, go ahead. What happened?_ ”

“I got an alert, from the database— someone accessed the files from— from an old Freelancer facility, this watchpoint zone near an old simulation training base. It’s one of a couple of facilities in this area but— anyway, anyway, the point is, there was access from that old base. And only one of us had access codes that could get us into the central system that the UNSC repurposed.” She took a deep breath. “Our team leader, Agent Carolina.”

“ _Holy shit. Seriously? That’s great!”_ Then, examining her face, “ _…isn’t it?_ ”

“It’s— it is, it is, but— Alex, I don’t know what to do now. I only reactivated my program because it made me feel like I was doing something, because it gave me a little peace of mind.” Until it didn’t. “I never expected anything to come of it!”

“ _Well, maybe it is nothing. Maybe it was just some UNSC agent, not Carolina_ ,” Whistler offered, shrugging a little. Connie rolled the beads faster and groaned.

“Alex, that does _not_ help! If that was someone from the UNSC then they know I’m alive now!”

“ _Right, right, sorry. Alright, let’s take this one step at a time— what exactly happened?_ ”

Connie took a deep breath. Rested her head in her hands. “I was up late, stressing about— about everything and when I came back into the bay to make a hot drink, my data-pad pinged. I had it set up to tell me about alerts even when my PC was closed. When I went into the database, someone had been accessing various files including the status register for the top ten.”

“ _Alright. What did you do then? How did you figure out where the access point was?_ ” It was a silly question, really, Whistler knew exactly how to find that information and knew how Connie would have done so, but it kept her on track.

“I retraced the signal, right back to its origin. The— the location data showed me where it was. I never trained at the base personally but I recognised the identification code and name.” She rubbed her eyes.

“ _And then? How did you make contact?_ ”

“I went into the register and— and changed my listing. I was Connecticut, but— during the last couple of years of the Project, I told people to call me ‘CT’ rather than Connie. So— I changed my listing to CT. Carolina responded by changing my status to AWOL, rather than MIA,” Connie said. Her rolling of the beads slowed.

Whistler nodded along, sat back. “ _Okay. Final question: are you absolutely sure that it’s Carolina?_ ”

Connie swallowed, but looked right at the camera. “Yes. I’m positive.”

“ _Well— then you just have to tell Nat,_ ” Whistler said, leaning back on their hands. “ _I don’t know what else to tell you. If this is really one of your old friends— you gotta tell her._ ”

“Right.” Inhale, exhale. “Right. I think— I think I knew that, but needed someone else to say it.”

“ _Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you need a kick up the ass. Metaphorically speaking._ ” Whistler waved a hand. “ _But hey, if you’re worrying, don’t. That woman loves you to bits. She’s not going to care that you haven’t told her before now._ ”

“But—”

Whistler called off screen. “ _Hey, Darian! Tell Connie that Nat loves her and isn’t going to be mad!_ ”

“ _What am I being dragged into?_ ” Castor said, voice growing closer though he remained out of shot. At least, until Whistler reached and grabbed him by the arm, literally dragging him into view.

“ _Just say it!_ ”

Castor shook his head, waved at Connie. “ _Hey Connie. Nat loves you and isn’t going to be mad._ ”

“Thanks, Castor,” Connie said with a laugh. “She’s busy fixing up our atmospheric systems right now, they conked out on us a little while ago and we’ve been freezing ever since.”

“ _Ooo, rough. See, this is why we have an actual base of operations, rather than a ship_ ,” Whistler said, nodding. Castor chuckled.

“ _Not because we can’t afford the ridiculous price black market military ships go for?_ ”

“ _Nah._ ”

Connie exhaled deeply, slumped slightly. The beads still ran back and forth over her palm, but slower and calmer. It was easy enough to slip into a more casual conversation with the other mercenaries, asking them about how things had been since the war had ended and what jobs they had done or were taking. It was always nice to catch up; having regular contact with other people had only been positive.

As absorbed as she was in the conversation, she barely noticed the noise of the work outside stop until footsteps echoed through the bay.

“Hey babe, sorry, looks like I’m gonna have to move inside to get at some shit I need,” South said, walking in and wiping her hands off on a cloth. She was clearly warm, her hair messy and the white tank top she wore already sporting stains from the work she’d been doing.

Hot mechanic look, indeed.

“That’s okay.” Connie held a hand out to her. South tucked the cloth through the belt loop of her jeans and took it, bringing it up to her mouth to kiss the knuckles. “I’ve got Alex and Darian on, want to talk to them?”

“Fuck yeah I do. Hey assholes.” She crouched down next to the bed, Connie turning the screen towards her. “How you fucks been? Excuse how fucking messy I am. Pelican’s being a shit.”

“ _You’re always a mess, Nat,_ ” Whistler teased, earning themself a flip of the bird. “ _We’ve been fine! Got another job coming up, now the trade routes and everything are slowly opening back up some more interesting work’s coming in again._ ”

“Yeah, we’ve had a rise in fuckin’ fun offers too. Fucking finally, things were getting kinda stale,” she said. “What kinda stuff you got coming?”

They fell easily into a conversation that lasted for a few more minutes, South taking the chance to catch up with their friends just as Connie had. Connie just sat and listened, her head rested on South’s shoulder. It gave her time to really compose herself again, think about how exactly she would tell South about everything that had happened.

The call ended when Whistler and Castor got a communication from a client that they had to deal with immediately; they signed off with a quick goodbye and a pointed look at Connie that even she couldn’t miss the undertones of.

“Alright, I’m gonna have to open up one of the panels in here and fiddle with some shit, shouldn’t take long but you’re gonna wanna move that cute butt of yours outside or pop in those earplugs,” South said. On her way up, she kissed Connie’s cheek.

“Alright,” Connie said, tugging at her lip with her teeth. She watched as South crossed the bay, looking for the panel she needed. First, she went to stand and follow, only to abandon that idea and end up sat on the edge of the bed. By the time she felt ready to speak—breathing deep, thinking her words over in her head—South was undoing the panel. “Hey, Natasha?”

South didn’t look back. “Yeah babe?”

“I need— to talk to you about something.” Breathe deep. Rehearse the words. This time, South peered back at her.

“What about?” This was it. Whatever was bothering her, she was ready to talk about it. She knew she’d tell her.

“I think… I think Carolina’s alive. And now she knows that I am, too.”


	20. Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as, the chapter that taught Blue why the show itself doesn’t include any hard numbers/dates (seriously I adjusted the numbers in this like 10 times never again)

“Carolina’s— wait, what? Okay, okay, back up a little,” South said, making a vague rewind motion and then folding her arms. “How the fuck do you know Lina’s alive, or fucking— she know _you’re_ alive? What the fuck am I missing here?”

Connie pulled her knees up to her chest, feet curled over the very edge of the mattress. “I— I started— after we met Alex and Darian, Alex told me about some… rumours, going around the network about one of Alpha Squad being active again. So I— I reactivated my program and started looking at the database again.” Feeling herself start to pick at her scar she grasped for the beads where she’d set them down. “The other night, when I said I’d— I’d had a nightmare, there was an alert from the database. Carolina used an old access point from a nearby simulation base, she checked out a whole bunch of files about the Project’s facilities, the Director, the Alpha— and the Alpha Squad register.”

“So— Carolina’s fucking _alive?_ You’re sure? She’s actually fucking alive?” South was pacing, now, back and forth in a tight circle. Hands in her hair, head slightly bowed. “Like— you’re _sure_ it’s her?”

“I’m positive. Well— ninety-nine percent positive. Only she had the access codes that could get her into the system like that and— there was this exchange we had by— by changing some of the information and—” Breathe deep, think the words through. Stop babbling. Breathe deep. “—yeah, yeah I’m positive.” Then, brow furrowed, “You— you don’t seem— upset? I went against my promise, I started looking again.”

“What?” South seemed genuinely confused, frowning. “Why would I— fuck, Connie. Is that what’s been fucking bothering you all this fucking time? You thought I’d be mad?”

“I thought you’d be _hurt_ , not mad. I lied, I kept it from you after promising I’d stop looking,” Connie said, looking down. It sounded almost silly, when South said it like that. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

Before she could finish she was enveloped in a tight hug, her curled up body held against South as she buried her face in her hair. It took her a moment to react, arms slowly uncurling from around her legs and instead wrapping around South’s back. She pressed her face into her shoulder.

“Babe, fuck— I never shoulda fucking told you to stop looking in the dicking _first place_ ,” South said, kissing the top of her head. With her lips still buried in her hair, she continued, “Like— we fucking cope different ways; that was how you were coping. It was fucking wrong to tell you to stop, I shoulda just told you to stop fucking telling me or _something_ , y’know? Fuck.”

“I was willing to do that for you. I got used to it. I didn’t think about it for a long time and then— yeah.”

“That’s not the point babe. I fucked up.” Another kiss, an exhale. Her eyes closed and she nuzzled her head. “Fuck. Fuck I— I didn’t wanna know because I was fucking terrified of seeing more KIAs appearing, y’know? After Nik— look, babe, I was just fucking worried about you. You’ve been so fucking off lately, was this all it was?”

“I— yeah. Mostly.” Her legs slipped down, hanging over the edge of the bed until South gathered her up and sat them both in the centre of the mattress. “You could tell…?”

“Course I could fucking tell, I know when my babe isn’t acting like herself. _But—_ knew you’d come to me when you were fucking ready,” South said. Tucking Connie’s hair behind her ear, she kissed her. Connie exhaled, hands linked behind South’s neck as she melted into the feeling. “Love you babe.”

With her head rested against South’s, Connie smiled a relieved smile. “I— I love you too.”

“Now like, fuckin’ seriously— you’re _sure_ Carolina’s a-fucking-live?” South said. Connie gave a half-laugh, kissing her cheek and giving her a look.

“You doubt me? I’m hurt,” she said, hand over her heart. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

South settled down behind her as she pulled up the PC and the database, chin digging into her shoulder and arms loosely around her—a finger tracing over that scar on her gut. Nothing in the database had changed since Connie had last been inside; she went directly to the squad register, hovering her cursor over her own listing.

_Agent CT: AWOL_

“Weren’t we listed as fucking MIA? You deleted all the footage from the hangar and shit, didn’t you? Or some shit?” South said, tilting her head.

“Not me, no. I rerouted the feeds to my helmet, but after I was injured I wasn’t aware enough to delete anything. But someone must have, or the feeds must have been corrupted somehow, because we _were_ listed as MIA,” Connie said. Her cursor flicked briefly over South’s listing, unchanged. “You still are. This— this is how I know Carolina’s alive. I changed my name from Connecticut to CT and she changed my status to AWOL.”

“Babe, you’re a fucking genius.” Pressing a kiss to Connie’s cheek, she squished her face and earned a giggle. “So— fuck. It is her. It really fucking is her. After two _fucking_ years— why now? Why the fuck has she surfaced _now?_ ”

“No idea. For all we know, she could have surfaced months ago—back when I wasn’t looking—and this is just the first time I caught her. Like I said, she was looking at files on the Director, the Alpha and the Project’s facilities. Why, I don’t know.” She shrugged, leaned back against South. South made a quiet ‘hmm’ noise, nuzzling against Connie’s shoulder.

“Maybe she’s trying to find him?” she suggested. Connie’s eyes widened slightly. “The Director, the facilities… I don’t know about the Alpha thing but— did they actually retrieve that fucker? Or—?”

“No, no, the Alpha was missing just like the Director.”

“Then fuck yeah, I’d put money on her trying to find the fucking asshole.”

“That— makes sense.” Connie thought back to one of those many snippets of information she was never supposed to know, that name listed on Carolina’s personnel file. What that name _meant_. “But he could be anywhere by now. I doubt he had all of his facilities on file.”

“Yeah… fucking, speaking of where fucking assholes are— what the fuck are we supposed to do now? Carolina knows you’re fucking alive but that sure as dicks doesn’t tell either of you where the other one fucking _is_.” Kissing Connie’s temple, she kept tracing over scar. When she noticed Connie’s face, the ‘ _well_ ’ implicit in the way she cocked a brow and pressed her lips together, she squinted. “…what?”

“Well— the access point was an old simulation base, one of a couple in this cluster of colonies. I— well, I know where that base was. I have the coordinates. She’ll have moved on by now but— it gives us a rough area.”

“Seriously?! Why didn’t you say that _sooner_?” South said, jumping up to her knees.

Connie tilted her head back to look at her. “Well, one, I did mention the simulation base. Two, you didn’t exactly give me chance!”

“Okay, fair.”

“Do you _want_ to go and look for her?”

A loud groan filled the bay; South threw herself off the bed and started pacing, her head in her hands and in her hair. “Yes! I mean, fuck. Maybe? Motherfucker. I don’t fucking know.” She paced in circles, tugging at her hair and waving her arms, all the while taking deep breaths to calm herself down. Then, she turned back to Connie. “Yes. Yes I wanna look for Carolina. But she does not under _any_ fucking circumstances know that I agreed to this shit.”

And just like that, the lingering tension in the air snapped as Connie burst into laughter, doubling over and trying, but failing, to muffle herself by biting her fist. South held out for a moment, just a moment, before starting to laugh too. They stayed like that for a long time, the atmosphere settling around them, until Connie started to regain control over herself—though the grin never quite left.

“What about all of that talk about this being our life now? About— about not looking back anymore?” she asked, sitting herself on the edge of the bed again.

“Babe, I said all that fucking _before_ knowing someone was fucking alive! And fucking besides, it’s not like this fucking life is going anywhere! Carolina, on the other fucking hand, can run faster than a goddamn runaway train!” South said, throwing her arms up. Connie giggled, covering her mouth again, but she understood what she was saying; jobs weren’t hard to find these days, but their friends were a different story. This was the first chance they’d gotten to do something and she’d already wasted days by not saying anything. “So— do we fucking go there, or what?”

“Well…” Connie shrugged, twisted her hands palm up, “it’s the only lead we have.”

“How far is it?”

“It’s out on Scintilla, so— thirteen or fourteen days travel? Give or take.” They rarely went out to the edges of the system, Scintilla on the outermost  edge and Lux on the innermost; the travel times varied from half a month to three times that—time they didn’t usually have to waste. But for this—

“Then what’re we fucking waiting for?” South said, spinning on her heel to face her head on. “We can set the autopilot and be there as quickly as fuckin’ possible!”

“We’re waiting for you to fix that damn atmospheric system, Tasha,” Connie said with a laugh, folding her arms under her chest. South gave an almost comical groan and huffed. “Go on, if you finish that by this evening then I can spend this time pulling the coordinates and seeing if I can figure out where she might have gone since, okay?”

“Right. Okay. I’ll get back to work fixing this broken piece of ass. Pop your earplugs in babe, let’s do this shit.”

By late afternoon South had finished work on the Pelican and Connie had the coordinates they needed. Thirteen days non-stop travel, that was the final estimate; the auto-pilot would keep them moving at the right pace. By early evening they’d left Luminescence’s orbit and were on their way towards Simulation Outpost 8 — Bone Point.

Thirteen days uninterrupted travel gave them more than enough time to really think about what they were doing, what they were _going_ to do. There was little doubt that Carolina would have long since moved on from Bone Point, but it was their only lead; if they started there, then at least they _had_ a start. From there, Connie hoped to find clues in the files that Carolina had been reading or in the whispers across the mercenary network.

“She’s been active for a few months now,” she said, as they sat discussing, “if we can find out where she’s been before now, maybe we can figure out where she’s going.”

With no way to communicate directly with her, it was the best chance they had.

Bone Point wasn’t much different from any other simulation base that either of them had trained at during their time in the Project; two bases, stood on opposite ends of a contained area. Bone Point’s setting was a large, abandoned city square enclosed on all sides by the rubble of the surrounding city; impassable, without knowledge of the hidden pathways carved through the debris.

They landed the Pelican in the centre of the square, stirring up dirt and small pieces of rubble. Bone Point had been abandoned since the Project was shut down, along with all of the other simulation bases and—just as Connie has suspected—no one rushed out to investigate the unmarked Pelican. It was unguarded.

“Or the guards are up at the fucking watchpoint wondering what the fuck is going on down here,” South offered as she finalised the landing procedure.

Connie shook her head. “We would have been spotted on our approach. Not to mention that if Carolina had knocked out guards here, they would have improved security. It’s more likely that any guards stationed here were removed when the UNSC paused the investigation.”

“Lucky for us that they don’t give a shit anymore, I guess.”

Outside, it was dead silent. Isolated, no noise drifted over to the base from any nearby cities and it seemed abandoned even by any kind of local wildlife. Their heavy armoured footsteps echoed around the empty outpost, disturbing the atmosphere.

“You ever train at this one?” South turned on the spot, looked around. “I never did. Remember 36, though, went there a couple times. Can’t remember the fucking name, though.”

“No, I didn’t. Outpost 5 was the most… memorable, for me; First Hold, that was the name. The Blue team lost two team members, so I was sent in to ‘even the teams’,” Connie said, with a shudder. Scanning the area, she gestured towards the watchpoint—the only intact original building—a short distance away, through the rubble. “It’s— I didn’t kill any of them myself, but I roughed them up and put two of the Reds in a position to be killed by the Blues. Didn’t really question it, at the time, but…”

An arm encircled her back, coaxed her gently until she was tucked against South, arms around her waist. South leant down and bumped their helmets together, holding her there for a long moment.

“I know babe. Shit’s fucked.”

Connie sighed. “Yeah. Shit’s fucked.”

“Come on, less thinking about the smothering immorality of the shit we did in Freelancer, more moving our asses,” South said, knocking their helmets again before letting her go. A final playful elbow from Connie and they were on their way.

Once found, the pathways through the rubble were easy enough to follow and it took barely a couple of minutes at a light jog to reach the base of the building—it wasn’t as far away as it had looked from the square. They found the door not only unguarded, but unlocked.

The access point was upstairs, in a room designed to overlook the bases in the square below. It was mostly undisturbed, beyond the boot-prints in the layer of dust covering the floor and the brushed away dust where Carolina had used the terminal. Nothing else in the watchpoint was of value to her, or to them; the outpost itself wasn’t their point of interest, all that mattered was the connection to the Project’s old servers.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything here that could help, babe,” South said, standing back as Connie booted up the terminal. “Seems like she came in then fucking left right away.”

“Seems like it.” Still, she waited for the terminal to connect to the database and scanned through the files that Carolina had accessed again, just in case. “She trained here before, so that’s how she knew about this terminal and how to get up to the building. We know that. That just raises the question of why _now?_ It’s been two years since the Project fell, why did she only come here _now?_ ”

Leaning against the side of the terminal, South bent backwards over the top and tilted her head towards Connie. “Distance?”

“She couldn’t have been any further away from where the _Mother of Invention_ was last stationed than we were. She will have been just as limited by a lack of slipspace travel as we have.”

“Yeah, but getting a fucking ship to move about won’t have been fucking easy before the war ended. She coulda been stuck somewhere, only able to move like— between fucking Radiance and Luminescence, for example. If that! Might’ve only just got some transport that could get her out this far,” South said, shrugging. “We got fucking lucky having a ship, babe. Not everyone can move between colonies that fucking easy, especially not without damn good connections.”

Connie sighed, but nodded along. All true. “Okay, so if we assume it was transport that stopped her from getting here— we need to look into civilian transport systems that have started back up since the war ended. I think this terminal should have an external net connect— there we go.”

“Gonna cross-reference the transport systems drop offs with other locations of interest?”

“You _have_ been paying attention to my silly recon rambles and jargon,” Connie said, sounding genuinely flattered, “I’m touched.”

“I always listen to your rambles and shit babe, recon, tech, or otherwise.” She stood up and turned around, leaning against the terminal with her arms folded under her chest atop it. “Got anything?”

“I’m looking. There _are_ some rudimentary transport systems up and running now, aimed at people wanting to get home or find their families, but anyone can buy a ticket.” She scanned the list of drop off points, then pointed a finger towards the screen. “There. One of them ferries people back and forth between here and Ignis. Another one runs from Ignis and goes to a few places.”

“Where’s that other sim trooper base?”

“Outpost 13, North Valley— it’s on Fatuus, Ignis’ sister colony.” Brow furrowing, she shook her head. “Honestly, naming a pair of colonies after a phrase that essentially means false hope is still more than a little questionable. Who thought that was a good idea?”

“A total fucking pessimist, same answer I give you _every time_ you get up in arms about it,” South teased, snorting. Connie, in lieu of being able to stick her tongue out, flipped her the bird. “Rude. Now, maybe I’m going out on a fucking limb here, but I’d fucking guess that there’s a transport between Ignis and Fatuus.”

“You would be correct. Each of these transports takes several days; between here and Ignis is currently about twenty days and then there’s the usual two or so days between Ignis and Fatuus,” Connie said. “Assuming she left immediately after our communication… she’d be close _and_ she has one hell of a head start.”

“Assuming that’s where she’s fucking going. There’s nothing fucking new she could find there, fucking surely.”

“It’s the only lead—”

“—we have,” South echoed, sighing. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just fucking frustrating. That’s, what, just under three weeks travel for us too? By the time we get over there, she’ll have fucking moved! And this is our last fucking lead!”

“I know.” Connie sighed, standing back from the terminal. Reaching over, she rested a hand on South’s arm. “We’ll find her. Somehow. She knows I’m alive, so— she might be trying to find me too.”

South took her hand. “Then why didn’t she just fucking stay _here_?”

“Couldn’t risk it, not after activating the link to the system. Maybe moving onto another location she knew we could figure out was the best option she had.” Squeezing South’s hand, she sighed. “Let’s take one more look around, then head out. The quicker we get moving, the quicker we reach Fatuus.”

There were no other signs of Carolina’s presence, or any other clues as to where she’d gone. Their best bet remained Outpost 13 – North Valley, the only other sim trooper base in this cluster of colonies. They left Bone Point behind having learned very little and feeling frustrated, beginning another journey which would take almost twenty one days, essentially non-stop from one side of the system to the other.

On day nine, they were contacted by Whistler and Castor. As it turned out, Connie had accidentally ignored some communications from them, one a few days prior and another two in the preceding weeks, swept up in the events that had followed their last call. Never having waited so long for a reply from Connie before, Whistler had been worried and finally decided just to call.

“I’m so sorry, I either never saw these notifications or I read them and then totally forgot about them,” Connie said as she scanned through the communications, mostly filled with questions about what had been happening since they last talked and updates on their work. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“ _Me? Worried? Nah, I wasn’t worried, just, you know,_ kinda _started considering that maybe you’d been snapped up by some asshole UNSC guy or bounty hunter. Not worried at all_ ,” Whistler said, off-screen. They were working on something, so Castor had taken front and centre. Connie shook her head, sharing an amused look with Castor. “ _We take care of our own in this network! I was gonna send out a search party! Well, a digital one._ ”

“Don’t worry, we’re fine, just— very, very busy. There’s been a lot going on.”

“ _This about what you talked to Alex about last time we talked?_ ” Castor asked, leant forward against his crossed legs. “ _The Freelancer business?_ ”

“Yeah, it’s about that. We’re coming back towards Ignis, now—well, strictly speaking we’re coming to Fatuus— _but_ we’ve been on the other side of the system. At that access point,” Connie said.

“ _Well, funnily enough, that’s part of the reason Alex got impatient_ —” (“ _I wasn’t impatient! I was worried!_ ”) “— _waiting for you to reply. Past few days we’ve been hearing chatter about that Freelancer again, passing through this area. Ignis and Fatuus._ ”

South and Connie perked up, shared a look. That was exactly the kind of news they needed to hear, confirmation that there was Freelancer movement in the area.

“Uh— not to be fucking picky, but is there like, any fucking hint of what this Freelancer’s armour colour is?” South said, glancing back at Castor.

“ _Various. Turquoise, teal, seafoam, aquamarine— pick a name for greenish-blue and we’ve probably heard it._ ”

A peal of relieved laughter filled the air, Connie’s head falling into her hands. “Oh thank god.”

“You have no fucking idea how much of a relief it is to fucking hear that, Darian. No fucking idea,” South said with a breathless chuckle, kissing the top of Connie’s head. “She actually fucking went that way. Thank _fuck_.”

“ _Glad to be of service_ ,” Castor said. Whistler appeared behind him, sat themself down on the bed and started tapping his shoulder repeatedly. He gently swatted at their hand, a ‘wait a minute’. “ _Last couple of reports of activity were this morning, from Fatuus. If that helps._ ”

It lined up with their predicted travel times, give or take. Carolina had beaten them there by several days which, whilst it was a relief to know they were right, again raised the fear that she would move on before they even reached her. However without a way to contact her, there was no way for her to—

“ _Darian! You’re literally forgetting the most important detail!_ ” Whistler said, huffing and shoving him playfully out of the way. “ _There was a job offer that showed up about the same time that was phrased a little weird, someone passed it onto us because they weren’t sure how legit it was. Read like a phishing scam from the UNSC, they said. But— well, I’ll save you the long overly detailed piece that’s no doubt_ filled _with clues, because it’s too much to read out and the important part is the first line anyway. ‘Freelance Mercenaries wanted.’_ ”

—know she had to stay put.

Oh. _Oh._

“Can you send us that job offer, Alex?” How Carolina knew that they were mercenaries, she didn’t know; but all things considered, it was far, far from impossible. It wasn’t exactly hard to infiltrate the various communication networks for either mercenaries, bounty hunters or the local authorities and gather information, so long as you were careful not to drawn attention to yourself. “I think you’re right, that’s— that’s too much of a coincidence to be nothing.”

“ _Sure thing! I’ll send it over right now, if Dar moves his butt._ ”

“ _My butt is being moved._ ”

Within a couple of minutes, the notification pinged on Connie’s end and they had access to the job. It didn’t take more than scanning it for Connie to be sure that the request had been written by Carolina—not only did the description continuously use ‘freelance’ where it had no need to, but the structure itself mirrored Carolina’s post-mission reports exactly. There was no doubt about it, in Connie’s mind; Carolina had not only figured out what she and South had been doing during the past two years, but this was her way of reaching out.

“It her?” South said, squinting at the screen. Connie tilted it back so she could read it more easily. “Okay yeah I’m like a fucking sentence in and I recognise the exact fucking way she talks when she writes shit down. That’s her.”

“It’s not the most— _natural_ , sounding piece. Definitely written to catch someone’s attention,” Connie said. “Thanks, Alex, this is— I can’t thank you enough for spotting this.”

“ _Don’t sweat it. This is a big deal for you and honestly, after how we met? Least we can do_ ,” Whistler said with a dismissive wave. “ _But when you find this person, you totally owe us an update._ ”

South chuckled. “I think we can manage that fucking much.”

“ _Damn right you can._ ”

The conversation lasted for about ten more minutes before Whistler and Castor had to attend to other things, at which point Connie and South promised to contact the other mercenaries as soon as they had any further news—whenever that may be. With tangible evidence that Carolina was exactly where they expected her to be, the final stretch of travel felt much less like a chore.

This time, they had real work to do. Connie and South spent a substantial amount of time double, triple and quadruple checking that the job offer wasn’t some carefully constructed UNSC scam, just in case. Once they were sure, _beyond_ sure, that it was legitimate, they carefully constructed a response to accept the ‘job’.

By the next evening, they’d received a reply—written in that same familiar cadence—that gave further details, which only further confirmed the source. The ‘client’ wished to arrange their meeting at ‘an old abandoned military facility’ in the middle of nowhere, otherwise known as Outpost 13 – North Valley. Very few people would know the facility even existed.

Days later, they landed in the centre of North Valley.

“So, know the plan if this turns out to be some super, super fucking elaborate and convincing UNSC trap?” They both stepped out of the back of the Pelican, fully armoured and armed. “Be ready to shoot fucking straight the fuck away. Two uses of that unit of yours, no more. Don’t need you fucking up your brain. I see a nosebleed after this and I’m just gonna have to smother you in kisses until you get some goddamn self-preservation instincts, mm’kay?”

“And you say _I_ fuss a lot,” Connie said. Catching the way South folded her arms, she laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll stick to the two time limit. Promise. Though I still doubt it’ll come to that.”

South snorted. “Well yeah, fucking same, but we gotta be prepared for anything. Not gonna let the UNSC catch our asses now, not after this cocking long.”

“They won’t. Alright, so— outpost 13A, that’s the building we agreed to meet in. That’s— that,” she gestured, “one of the two. Let’s move, we’re already a couple of minutes past our agreed rendezvous time.”

The outpost was just as abandoned and silent as Bone Point had been, with no signs of life or activity; so little sign of anything, in fact, that for a moment it had them doubting that Carolina had turned up at all (at least, it made them certain that the _UNSC_ wasn’t there). Nothing disturbed the still atmosphere and their footsteps echoed around the empty outpost in a manner reminiscent of something from a horror film when they stepped inside.

“It’s dark as fucking dicks in here.” With no connected electricity and no visible windows, the building was all but pitch black. “But fucking apparently, not dark enough for my shit ass helmet to kick on night vision. Thanks, Freelancer, your shitty equipment is fucking me even now.”

“Give it a minute, it’ll turn on eventually if it stays dark,” Connie said, already several steps ahead of her. “Come on, I’ve found the door that takes us further in.”

“Further into _hell_.”

Silence.

“Okay yeah that was a bit fucking dramatic.”

Connie struggled not to laugh, biting and pressing her lips together. “You’re ridiculous.”

She stepped through into the centre portion of the base, the area the flag was kept in that was then surrounded by the base’s actual living areas. It was bare, now, the old hole where the flag would stand left empty and it was cast in shadow by the minimal light that came in through the skylight.

At first, she simply gave the room a quick scan and intended on just turning around, leaving and checking another room— but then she caught the slightest glint in the corner of the room and spun towards it, pistol in hand.

“Who’s there?” she said. Behind her she heard footsteps, South coming into the open area behind her. “Show yourself.”

There was a low laugh, the sound of armoured footsteps— out of the shadows wandered a familiar suit of armour, tinted a shade of black that slowly started to fade away to an equally familiar aqua as her hand settled on her cocked hip and her helmet tilted in that signature look of hers.

“You’re late,” Carolina said, grin in her voice. “I’m disappointed.”


	21. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like a good time to drop a reminder that, like my Connie, I write Carolina as autistic.

“You fucking dramatic piece of shit!”

Before Connie had even dropped her gun South had passed her, grabbed Carolina’s hand and pulled her into a one-armed hug. Carolina barely faltered, grasping her hand tight in return and patting her back through her armour. It was only when South gave her a proper squeeze that she seemed caught off guard but, even then, she didn’t fail to return it.

“Like, fucking seriously? You couldn’t just stand outside like a fucking normal person. You had to go dramatic on our asses. Had to hide in the shadows and deliver a shitty one-liner,” South said, laughing under her breath. Finally, she let go of Carolina and took a step back. “Not even a good one-liner. A shitty one-liner. Aren’t we worth more than that?”

“Who said it was meant to be good?” Carolina unsealed her helmet, shaking out her hair and tucking it under her arm. A little worse for wear, her hair was thrown up in a messy bun and she had bags under her eyes, but there was a glint in them nevertheless. “It was true. You’re late.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” South retorted, grinning. Her own helmet came off a second later. “We’ve been tracking your ass for like, a fucking month. Not our fault you had to go and go from one side of the fucking system to the other.”

“I could hardly stay still,” she said, before turning her attention to Connie, who had only now started to remove her helmet. “That was a clever trick, Connie. Changing your listing to CT like that.”

Connie gave her an awkward smile, shrugged her shoulders with her helmet tucked against her gut. “I’m just glad you understood it. It was— a bit of a risk.” For a long moment she debated whether or not it was appropriate to hug her, too, the way South had. If the way Carolina was standing—half stepped forward, watching Connie closely, arms slightly elevated at her sides—was anything to go by, she was considering the same question.

In the end, they both settled for a handshake.

There was a restrained smile that they offered each other, though, and a laugh under Carolina’s breath—it was a shared moment of awkwardness that came from a shared place.

“You two have made _quite_ the name for yourselves,” Carolina said as she dropped her hand. “Once I knew you’d survived, Connie, I took a bit of a chance and assumed that South had too. Luckily for me, I was right. Looked out for your trademarks, sightings of your armour— didn’t take long to put the pieces together from there.” She smiled. “Nemesis and Veritas.”

“Your job offer made our network think the UNSC was trying to bait them, you know,” Connie said, corner of her lips quirked. “Luckily we had a couple of friends who knew the situation and passed it onto us.”

“I had to be sure that you’d find it. Subtlety wasn’t really an option.” 

“Yeah, like subtlety’s ever been your fuckin’ deal with shit like that anyway Lina,” South said with a snort.

Narrowed eyes set on South, though they were accompanied by an amused look that undermined the gesture somewhat. South just grinned.

“We weren’t sure we were going to be able to catch up with you, at first. We had so little information to go off that we thought you’d leave us in the dust, that we’d lose the trail and never find you.” Connie’s fingers tapped against the rim of her helmet—tap, tap, tap. “Before I caught you in the database, we weren’t even sure that anyone else was still alive at all. We— well,” she looked down, “we knew Nikolai wasn’t.”

South tensed up and, as she did, a hand reached over to grasped hers without a word, rubbing circles on the back; she gripped it tight and squeezed.

Carolina frowned, at first; mouthed ‘Nikolai?’ under her breath before a look of realisation crossed her face. “Oh. North. I saw. South, I’m—”

“It’s fine.” Cut her off, without hesitation. “I’m fine. S’not a big deal. Also, it’s Natasha now. Don’t go by our states anymore. I’d call you by _your_ name, if I fuckin’ knew it.”

Connie knew it. She shouldn’t, but she knew it.

The look that crossed Carolina’s face at the mention of her name was undecipherable, a mix of too many things for Connie to pick up on and that was even beyond South. But the expression passed, and she nodded. “Then you can call me Charlotte,” she said, before quickly continuing, “I had to… lay low, after the Project collapsed. For a while, I didn’t even know what Connie had done or what had really happened. It’s— a rather long story.”

“Can’t be much longer than our fucking story, honestly.” South said, folding her arms. “We’ve been on the run in a goddamn _Innie_ _Pelican_ for the past two fucking years. How about that one?”

“Well,” a small smile crossed her lips, “I guess with so many long stories to tell we should find somewhere more comfortable to talk. That Pelican sounds suitable.”

“Fuck yeah.” She chuckled, jerked her head over her shoulder. “Let’s get back to our shitcan and get into orbit. You got any belongings or you been living in one suit of fucking armour for the past two years?”

Without a word, Carolina stepped back into the shadow she came from and grabbed a black bag from the floor, swinging it up onto her back. It looked heavy but not quite packed full and somewhat resembled the makeshift armour bags that they’d used early in their life on the run.

All of her belongings on her back.

“Come on,” Connie said, offering her another smile, “let’s go.”

Once back in orbit, the three settled; bulky armour was shed in favour of the relative comfort of only being in their undersuits and Carolina was offered food and water, which she eagerly accepted.

It was sort of nice, having another person in the Pelican for the first time in months. The last time they could remember sharing the space with someone besides each other was when little Mira had been there with them, and that felt so long ago now.

Whilst she ate and started to take care of her armour, Connie and South explained everything—from Connie’s communications with Jarrett; to the events from the invasion; to their start in the mercenary business; to the events of the past few months. Carolina listened intently, asked questions here and there. When they were done, she sat back.

“You’ve made a good life for yourselves, all things considered,” she said, looking around the furnished bay. “It’s— a relief, to see you doing so well.”

“What’s that? A fucking genuine show of positive emotion from Agent Carolina? Haven’t seen one of those in fucking years,” South teased, leaning back on her hands where she sat on the floor. Carolina cast her a look, her brow raised, to which South only grinned. “Hey, I haven’t changed that fucking much, babe. Still a bitch. Just a _slightly_ better adjusted bitch.”

“I expected nothing less,” Carolina said, a note of fondness in her tone. It had been a lonely couple of years; whilst she and South had certainly had their differences towards the end of the Project, it was good to see her again. The sentiment being shared, though, _that_ was a pleasant surprise. “Just like I expected to find you together. Partners in crime—quite literally now.”

“Very literally,” Connie said with a faint laugh. Sitting on the end of the bed with the bottoms of her feet pressed together, she rocked forward a little. “So, Charlotte, that’s our story. What’s yours?”

A sigh. Carolina sat back, head against the metal of the seat and one foot tucked under the other thigh. “The reason I had to lay low was because, like you, I was injured during the invasion.”

“Oh, shit. What the fuck happened to you?” South asked. “We had no fucking clue what was going on in the rest of the ship. When we bailed, the invasion had barely been going like, half a fucking hour at most.”

Carolina’s hand came to rest over her ribs. “Well…”

 

**Two Years Ago, _Mother of Invention_**

“Run it again, F.I.L.S.S.”

“ _Resetting training room floor for next round._ ”

Everyone else had already left the training floor, gone back to the locker room to de-suit after a seemingly endless day of training. Strictly speaking, Carolina should have left, too, but she wanted to get in some more training without everyone else in her way.

Well, that was what she told the others.

The holographic discs reset and she started the training routine again. Her HUD was immediately filled with variables—the speed of her kicks, the best angles, the best target to hit next to clear them faster—Eta and Iota buzzing actively in her head and plotting out the best way to tackle this rather mundane training programme. Her scores had fluctuated between better and worse since she’d gotten the AI, it depended on the day and on whether Iota was strong enough to balance out Eta’s tendency to scare easily, but they were working on it.

That, at least, was something she could do something about.

The past few weeks had been filled with disaster after disaster after disaster. Of course, things had started falling apart long before now—ever since Bjorndal, ever since Tex—but the past two months or so had seen things get worse. CT’s continued defiance and insubordinate behaviour, running off in the middle of important missions; Carolina’s decision to take two AI, a decision she didn’t regret but that had certainly unsettled things; Maine’s unusual behaviour and their falling out with Washington, seemingly forgotten once Wash’s own AI left him comatose in med-bay…

There were still talks about removing the AI from agents all together, until they could be sure that none of them would do what Epsilon had done. Carolina found herself reassuring Eta that he wouldn’t be taken away almost nightly—it wasn’t always easy handling the twins, but she wasn’t about to let them get taken. She’d fought too hard to get here.

 _“Round complete. A ten-point-six increase in efficiency that round, Agent Carolina._ ”

“Run it again F.I.L.S.S.” Stretching her limbs, she got back into stance. “Good job, Eta, Iota. Got any more recommendations for me?”

“ _Sure do!_ ” Iota was usually cheerful, in that same way that Delta was usually logical, or that Theta was usually shy, or that any of the AI were often one familiar trait.

“Good. Give them to me.”

And the routine started again.

Repetition was relaxing. Repetition let her get her thoughts in order.

Wash being hurt the way he was had only increased the tensions that already existed. Missions had been put on hold and being stuck together, running drills for hours upon hours, had worn down on the team like nothing else even _without_ the constant underlying worrying. Carolina did her best to pull everyone together, but what respect they had for her leadership seemed to have faded alongside everything else.

Alpha was fragmented.

The squad’s relationships to each other had become terse, as if people were simply going through the motions. The most genuine display of care Carolina had seen in the past few weeks was the dedication that Maine had to sitting by Wash’s bedside—their hatred of medical environments be damned. Otherwise, everything seemed rehearsed, unnatural.

Or maybe that was just her.

She’d never been very good at these things.

Focused on her thoughts, she ran through the training programme on reflex alone. Three kicks in a row, never missing their targets; over and over, green turning red—

Everything turned off.

Carolina stopped, looked around the now dark training floor and up at the screens. “F.I.L.S.S, what’s going on?”

 _“Emergency Protocols have been activated._ _The Mother of Invention has been boarded. All Agents, report to defensive positions. All Agents, report to defensive positions. Emergency Protocols have been activated._ _The Mother of Invention has been boarded. All Agents—”_

That was when the alarms started to blare and warnings flashed across her HUD, repeating the same alert that F.I.L.S.S. was now playing on repeat—that the _Mother of Invention_ had been boarded by hostile forces and all agents should report to their stations immediately.

“Boarded?” Arms loose at her sides, her brow furrowed.  “Eta, Iota, can you—?”

“ _Already on it!_ ” Iota said, springing into life over Carolina’s shoulder. Eta hovered behind her, not quite blending into his sister’s hologram but coming close. Iota moved in a very animated, very human way, tapping her foot and scratching her head as she checked the ship’s frequencies for relevant chatter. “ _Five Insurrectionist dropships docked in the hangar approximately fifteen minutes ago! Approximately three minutes ago, the hangar’s main door into the ship was forced open. Multiple enemy combatants are presumed to be wandering through the ship._ ”

“The resistance—? This is gutsy, even for them— how did they even know we’d _be_ here?” Even as she spoke, she was making her way off of the training floor, running. “This isn’t an organised stop. We dropped out of slipspace _early_ and even that was over three weeks ago.”

“ _That would have given them time to— to pinpoint the ship’s location_ ,” Eta pointed out. “ _Especially if the Project still— still has a mole._ ”

Carolina gritted her teeth, barely stopping herself from digging them into her bottom lip. Eta and Iota were both chattering away in her mind; the thoughts they didn’t voice aloud were still bounced around inside of her head, rattling off the inside of her skull. Theories, details, plans of what to do— endless noise, not giving her a single moment’s peace to think for herself.

 _‘Can you_ please _be quiet, even for just a minute?!_ ’ It was impossible to focus. They’d come a long, long way from that first fight with Tex, but there was work to be done and they just wouldn’t _learn_. ‘ _Just tell me where I need to go. Not my defensive position, where there’s an actual_ threat _to deal with and then— let me_ think _.’_

The chatter quieted down a little, after that. Iota flashed up the approximate locations of some of the Insurrectionist soldiers on board and then fell mostly silent, the twins’ presence becoming little more than a tingle. It wouldn’t last, but at least it had given her some time to think.

They knew of several surviving key members of this branch of the Insurrection: their leader, working mostly behind the scenes; their heavy and their CQC expert, the two that had fought them on the highway; their sniper and demolitions expert, the back-up from Spiral; and two relative unknowns, known only by their use of chain guns. Seven notable targets, against nine active agents in Alpha squad alone.

Carolina had to wonder what they thought they were going to achieve.

‘ _Cameras— Cameras are showing that there’s more soldiers, too, not just the main seven,_ ’ Eta said, jittering in that way he did. ‘ _They’re not alone. Not alone._ ’

Considering how easy it was to wipe out huge numbers of the regular soldiers that made up the rest of this Insurrectionist cell, she couldn’t say that information changed her opinion. It was gutsy, for the resistance to try such a move, but it wasn’t smart.

Or at least, that was how it had seemed at the time. It was incomprehensible that a group of seven people, backed up by simple foot soldiers, could ever stand a chance at taking down the Project— not when over forty trained agents stood in their way. 

In the end, it had never been that simple.

Carolina didn’t know that, not then.

The halls were filled with soldiers and staff, buzzing with a panicked energy as everyone ran for their posts, for weapons, to give news. The training floor was at the heart of the ship, but the hangar wasn’t far; they’d have landed only floors below the central areas, where the training facilities, recreational spaces and barracks for each squad were. Crossing that distance wouldn’t take long; as Carolina ran through crowds of people, she heard panicked yells about captives and confrontations that had already begun.

Eta and Iota placed most of the resistance three floors down—two floors up from the hangar—but not all of them; there were two signatures already on the level below the training floor, she just had to get there. No time to run back to the armoury or locker room, one floor up. Only to run down, straight down and then right for the targets.

She jumped the flight of stairs leading down in one smooth leap, rolling head over heel and coming out running. Two hundred metres until the targets. Two people, moving slowly through the level; no back-up, no clear destination.

‘ _They’re probably looking for the agents._ ’ Iota, peeking her metaphorical head out of the bundle of activity in the back of Carolina’s mind. ‘ _What interest would they have in the staff? You’re the threat._ ’

That was a good point. Alpha, Beta and Gamma squad had had many an encounter with the Insurrectionists—from running interference and recon like Gamma was designed to do, to taking out bases and individual targets, jobs usually left for Beta and Alpha. The Agents were the threat.

Alpha were the threat.

Well, if they were looking for her, they were going to find her.

A hundred metres, two more turns of a corner—

That was when things started to go wrong.

When Carolina rounded the next corner, she collided _hard_ with another armoured figure coming from the other direction. The impact sent both of them ricocheting back into the nearest wall. Carolina groaned, steadied herself and—

“ _Texas?_ What are _you_ doing here?” The back of her mind was buzzing, that weird way it always did whenever Texas was around; Eta and Iota—only ever them, only ever since that first match—became distracted, unable to devote all their attention to the task at hand. Now wasn’t exactly an ideal time.

Tex was already steady, seconds away from bolting, when Carolina spoke. “What am _I_ doing here? I’m going to assume that same thing that you’re doing, Carolina. Trying to stop our ship from being invaded.”

“Funny. I thought they’d have you protecting the Director,” Carolina bit back, that all too familiar surge of anger in her chest. Why did it have to be _her?_ “You weren’t on the training floor. Too important to train with the rest of us?”

Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice the way that Tex flinched.

She shook her head, shoulders squaring as she prepared to run. “I don’t have time for this, Carolina. You can help me, or you can leave; I don’t care either way, but the choice is yours.” With that, she started to run down the hall.

One more corner, then the targets would be mere metres away.

Carolina gritted her teeth and ran after her.

She wasn’t going to let her beat her.

Not again.

As she skidded around the corner, barely seconds behind Tex, she caught sight of two familiar Insurrectionist elites: their demolitions man and the CQC expert, the woman from the highway. It wasn’t a surprising match-up—the two had fought together against her and Maine back at Longshore, before CT was shot and the Insurrectionists had withdrawn, for reasons still unknown.

“Hey, assholes!” Tex called, already rearing to go. “I think you’re a little bit lost. Your shitty little base is back in the other direction.”

Girlie and Demo turned around without any sense of urgency. If anything, they seemed confident. Demo had his shotgun slung up against his shoulder and Girlie stood with one hand on her hip, the other on the hilt of her knives.

“We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be, bitch. Arresting your asses!” Demo retorted, earning a simultaneous eye roll from all three women. Girlie elbowed him hard in the ribs and he huffed. “No but seriously, we’re arresting you. Put your hands up and all that shit.”

 _Arresting?_ An Insurrectionist, talking about arresting _them?_

“And why, exactly, would we do that?” Carolina said. Internally, she told Eta and Iota to start plotting the best course of action should a fight kick off— _when_ a fight kicked off. They were still distracted, buzzing endlessly and repeating some word Carolina couldn’t quite make out over and over—louder than usual and getting louder with every extra moment she spent by Tex. “The resistance doesn’t make _arrests_. You don’t have that authority.”

Girlie _laughed_. “You still think we’re the resistance, huh? Shit they really do have you wrapped around their shitty little fingers. We have all the authority we need and we’re here to take this shitshow _out_.”

“So we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” With a faint mechanical whirring, Demo punched his organic palm with his robotic fist. “Your choice.”

Almost in sync, Tex and Carolina readied their stances and gave noises of dry amusement.

“You’re kidding yourself if you think there’s anything about this that’ll be _easy_ , asshole,” Tex said, mimicking his motion with a roll of her neck— _her_ signature, much more menacing when coming from the woman herself. “I have nothing to lose. What about you?”

Demo must have decided that whatever he had to lose was worth it, because in the next second he was launching at Tex with his robotic arm reared back.

Tex didn’t even entertain the idea that it would hit her, meeting him with a hard punch to the front of his helmet that slammed him down into the ground on his back. All of the force he’d put into the leap was simply nullified—after all, Texas was a force all of her own.

Down, but not out, Demo groaned and rolled himself out of the way, letting Girlie dart ahead with knives drawn. Carolina didn’t give Tex time to step in. Eta and Iota flashed up a plan on her HUD, where to hit Girlie for the best impact and approximations of where her slashes would aim. She didn’t need it. With an eye for combat styles and multiple fights with this woman under her belt, Carolina knew the way she fought—fast, precise, tight; she wasn’t scared to go toe-to-toe with larger, more skilled opponents, but that didn’t mean she was on their level.

So it was easy enough to block the slashes that came for the most vulnerable areas of her armour; to dodge out of the way of wider, bolder swipes. Girlie was quick but Carolina was quicker, jumping at her with a kick to the chest and another and another and— knocked back several steps, she barely avoided falling over Demo.

Instead, he helped her ricochet. Back into Carolina’s face, back up close with her tightly tucked form and quick, deliberate movements. Demo followed, but stayed low; he launched forward, ready to tackle Texas or sweep her feet from under her but Tex was steady on her feet and heavier than she looked. Alone, neither was a true match for Carolina or Tex—but Carolina knew better than to underestimate her opponent.

Normally.

But nothing about that day had been normal.

Her thoughts were in other places. Eta and Iota flashed up plans of attack too fast for her to even consider them let alone implement them; they were distracted, unsteady, buzzing and active and making her head spin as she tried to get them to _calm down_ and focus on the fight. The longer they were around Tex, the longer they fought alongside her—no, _against_ her, against her presence and her _existence_ —the more distorted their thoughts got.

Carolina fought, dodged and blocked and kicked—one, two, three, one, two, three—but it was automatic, it was rehearsed, it relied on the predictability of her opponent. When that ran out—

Screaming. They were practically _screaming_.

It was that same word, over and over, becoming clearer little by little as the voices grew louder, more demanding— Beta. Beta, Beta, Beta—

‘ _Beta Beta Beta BetaBetaBetaBet—’_

Over and over, a never ending cacophony in her head, assaulting her in the one place that was usually safe from overwhelming sound. Alarms blared; her AI screamed; her head pounded; the world around her grew distant and dull and— and—

‘ _Goddammit please,_ stop! _Stop it! Stop— stop screaming—!_ ’

She needed it to stop.

She needed everything to _stop_.

Auto-pilot. She ran on auto-pilot. Blocking, dodging, kicking—one, two, three—blocking, dodging, kicking—one, two, three—blocking, dodging, kicking and— the sporadic guidance her AI threw at her only added to her overload, disrupted her field of view, confused her, but she followed it.

Followed it to a fault.

The AI were distracted, confused, their intel was spotty at best but the way they screamed in her head, the way their guidance was buried so deep into her subconscious thoughts— even when she knew, when she _knew_ the guidance was wrong, she followed it. One incorrect call-out too many and—

Girlie got the upper hand.

She didn’t feel the knife before she saw it, no. As the knife came towards her, plunged itself between her ribs just beneath her chestplate, she saw it. She just didn’t have time to stop it.

It _burned_.

All of the air was knocked from her lungs. The knife withdrew, sending fresh, hot spikes of agony through her chest and through her gut. Everything was amplified, from the pain to the feeling of the blood that sept beneath her undersuit and over her skin; to the impact of her arm against the wall; to the screeching as her armour dragged down the metal.

Yet at the same time, everything dulled. The fight, continuing barely metres away, was a world away and the screaming inside her head was as separated from her as her own thoughts.

Too much and nothing at all, all at once.

She couldn’t say it was new.

Teeth—her teeth?—tugged at her bottom lip. Maybe she could just curl up here, knees buried in her chest and hands over her ears. Maybe then it would all go away.

Texas. The board. The endless training. The AI that didn’t learn. The looming shadow of the Director. The fate of Wash, still asleep in med-bay. The knowledge that someone on her team, someone she cared about, had been betraying her this entire time.

Maybe she could have some peace.

Her eyes closed.

**Present Day**

“There’s a… blank spot, after that. I fell unconscious. All I remember is pain and vague flashes of sound, movement,” Carolina said, chewing on her lip. Her teeth caught at the old scar there. “I don’t imagine the fight went on much longer. As far as I’m aware, those two Inn— _targets_ , died there in that hallway. And, well— Texas somehow… got me away from the _Mother._ ”

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her knees up— then self-consciously dropped them, and settled for bouncing her leg. Without looking at the others, she continued her story.

**Two Years Ago, Civilian Hospital**

The next thing she knew, she was coming around in a hospital bed.

High-pitched, periodic beeping—the all too familiar sound of a heart monitor—disturbed the otherwise quiet atmosphere and buried its way into her skull. There was a faint throbbing around her ribs, muted by a widespread numbness that she recognised as the dulling effect of painkillers. Her eyes opened to a light coloured room, significantly longer than it was wide—a ward, not a private room.

Squinting to minimise the painful glare of the lights above her, she twisted her head to the left. Another person was laid up in a bed a few metres away, a sight that was mirrored on her other side.

With a groan, she planted her hands against the mattress and tried to push herself up. She only got as far as a sitting position before the combination of the throbbing pain and the dizziness caused by the medication or time unconscious stopped her in her tracks. Slumping back against the pillows, she tried to force herself to focus.

How did she get here? Where _was_ here? This didn’t look like a military hospital. It was too quiet. Everything was too quiet. The heart monitor’s beeping was still drilling into her brain with its sharp sound, echoed by other monitors which broke its rhythm and unchallenged by anything louder than faint breathing. It bounced off the inside of her skull, ricocheted around her—

Her head.

It was empty.

Her hand flew to the back of her neck, brushed against the exposed, cold metal of her neural implant—no chips. Eta and Iota weren’t there, weren’t buzzing away in her head. For weeks, there hadn’t been a day without the chatter of the twins in her mind, without their energy flowing through her neural pathways and their thoughts mixing with hers.

It was too quiet.

Alarm rose in her chest, a tightness that drew her shoulders up and caught her breath. Where were they? Had someone taken them? Had the Insurrectionists—?

The Insurrectionists. The _Mother of Invention_. Texas.

Did Texas bring her here?

“Ma’am?”

Carolina’s head jerked and she made an instinctive grab for her sidearm—only to grab nothing, because she was only in a hospital gown. The nurse that had spoken approached her bed slowly, bearing a data-pad and a concerned expression, eyes flicking briefly up to her monitor before settling back on Carolina.

She dropped her own gaze to avoid the woman’s eyes.

“Sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to catch you unawares. Your monitor alerted the staff that you had woken up, so I came right over. Do you know where you are?” the nurse said, stopping at the edge of her bed.

Carolina frowned, swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. “…No.”

“You’re in Trance General Hospital.” Trance? She didn’t recognise that. Was that on one of the colonies that they’d been nearby? It must have been. “You’ve been here for a couple of days now, but you’ve been unconscious for most of that time. A blonde woman brought you in from the streets, but left once you were stabilised,” the nurse continued, before dipping her fingers into a pocket and sliding out a piece of paper. “Before she left, she asked us to give you this whenever you woke up.”

A note, seemingly scribbled out on the back of a chart. Offering it to Carolina, the nurse gave her a gentle but pressing smile until—reluctantly, looking to get the woman to stop staring—she took the paper from her. It was folded shut, into messy quarters.

After staring at it for a long moment, she set it down on the side table.

“What— what are my injuries?” she asked, finally, adjusting her position against the pillows.

The nurse read from her data-pad. “A single stab wound between the sixth and seventh ribs on your left side. Your bleeding had been mostly stopped by the time you were brought in. By military grade biofoam.” Ah. Not many civilians with legitimate access to military grade first-aid equipment. Even Carolina could feel the suspicion that laid under her otherwise even tone. “Nevertheless you _did_ lose a lot of blood and required surgery, as the incision was deep and complicated by what was assumed to be an unusually shaped blade. You’re recommended to stay here for further treatment for at least the next couple of weeks.”

Civilian hospital, civilian recovery times. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent more than a few days in medical for something as simple as a stab wound. It was easy to forget that the medical tech they had access to wasn’t exactly typical.

No matter. She wasn’t going to stay here for two weeks, either way.

“Alright,” she said, “how do I go about discharging myself?”

The nurse looked at her as if she had two heads. “As I said, ma’am, you’re recommended to stay here for at _least_ the next two weeks. Stab wounds are serious. Doctor Milligan strongly advises that you stay so we can monitor your healing.”

Carolina almost laughed. If this woman only knew about the injuries she’d had before, the injuries her team had suffered…

“I have the right to discharge myself.”

“…I’ll go and get Doctor Milligan, he can talk to you about your recovery and then you can make an informed decision,” the nurse said with a sigh, tapping her data-pad and turning away. As soon as she’d walked out of sight, Carolina was pushing herself over to the edge of the bed.

She couldn’t stay here. Not with what had happened back on the _Mother of Invention_. Her head was still faintly woozy from the drugs, but she remembered well enough—the invasion; the fight with Demo and Girlie; the way her AI had seemingly just fallen apart in the presence of Texas.

What she didn’t remember was how she’d gotten here. What she didn’t know was what had happened to the rest of her team. Sitting around in a hospital bed wasn’t going to get her those answers.

Through little but stubbornness, she managed to swing her legs over the edge of the bed— only to collapse the second she put her weight on her feet, her muscles stiff and unforgiving, the pain from her injury spiking beneath the painkillers.

She was still there when Doctor Milligan appeared.

Looked like she wasn’t getting answers yet.

It still took the doctor another hour and a fresh flood of painkillers to convince her to stay at the hospital for at least a few more days before making the decision to discharge herself. Dosed up, she drifted back to sleep within a further hour and didn’t wake up until the next day.

A second fall finally convinced her to stay, just for a little while.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t _restless_ , uncomfortable.

Public wards were not something she was accustomed to. Nurses passed in and out, checking on other patients who also came and went as the next few days passed. The room was simultaneously loud and quiet, smelled both artificially clean and disgusting at the same time. Worse than that, there was nothing to _do_. She’d never enjoyed stays in medical, no matter how short, but at least back on the _Mother_ she could get someone to smuggle her work or a book to read—here, there was nothing that could hold her attention.

Especially not when she wanted to be anywhere but here, doing anything but sitting around doing nothing.

On the fourth day, she remembered the note.

With a combination of the sudden silence in her head and the numbing monotony of the hotel room scrambling her thoughts, she’d almost forgotten about the note entirely. Reluctant to open it at first, she’d put it out of her mind with the intention of maybe opening it once she left the hospital, but that hadn’t happened.

It was a good a place to start as any.

Reading it confirmed her suspicions that Texas was responsible for her ending up in Trance General. Written in an oddly familiar script, it explained how Texas had taken her away from the _Mother of Invention_ through means that Carolina ‘would probably disapprove of’. Removing her armour and AI had been an unfortunate but necessary decision, with the threat of arrest looming over their heads. A set of coordinates were provided for her to retrieve them, once she was able.

A week later, she was at those coordinates. A locked storage unit that opened to Carolina’s old locker code. Inside she saw her armour laid out neatly and a small box, tucked under her helmet. The box contained Eta and Iota’s chips and, strangely, Connie’s dog tags.

The tags joined Carolina’s own on a chain around her neck, which she tucked beneath her shirt, as she packed a duffel bag full of her heavy armour and were forgotten.

For months, she found herself travelling aimlessly. Whilst her injury healed properly within a matter of weeks, the civilian locations she was forced to frequent and the news of the Project’s collapse that permeated them gave her little choice but to lay low. It prevented her from wearing her armour regularly, forced her to wear her hair loose to best conceal the AI chips in the back of her skull.

Re-implanting Eta and Iota hadn’t been a simple decision but, after weeks of silence and staring at the chips every night, she decided it was worth the risk. They had been immediately apologetic, willing to do whatever it took to make this arrangement work—and Carolina found herself willing, too. No matter what had happened during that fight, she’d been working with these AI for weeks and she’d never been much of a quitter.

Besides, the company was nice.

Over time, the issues smoothed out. Over time, she found herself genuinely recognising her AI as more than just tools. Over time, she recognised their new relationship as mirroring the successful integrations she’d seen back at the Project.

Eta came out of his shell, still nervous and easily panicked but seeing her as a source of comfort, protection. In return, he looked out for her too—his fears weren’t always unfounded and with a mind as quick as his, he saved her from close calls with the UNSC and bounty hunters many a time.

Iota was as joyful as ever, pure energy and sparks of happiness that spread out from her chip through Carolina’s nerves. With Iota, there was always a joke or a positive thought. With Iota, there was always an undertone of grim understanding when Carolina felt at her worst. With Iota, there was a level of empathy that lead to the trust that would later allow her to provide artificial sensory stimulation that did wonders for Carolina on the road.

She wouldn’t give them up for the world.

Still, there wasn’t a day that went by without her being worried about the others. The investigation into the Project’s collapse was the talk of the city, the talk of everywhere; but stuck mostly in Trance, on Radiance, she could do little to figure things out for herself. Transport between cities was hard enough to come by, but getting off-planet was damn near impossible without connections or something valuable to trade. Carolina had neither. For that first year, she found herself stranded in the purple tinted city, growing more and more restless with every passing week.

Before she knew it, the first anniversary came and went, and she was no closer to finding out what had happened than she was at the start of this.

It was her stressed stimming with the dog tags after this frustrating revelation—her teeth digging into the plastic mufflers in an attempt to mimic the sensation of one of her silicone chews—that gave her the breakthrough she needed, that made her remember that one unusual detail about what Tex had left her.

Connie’s dog tags.

Why did Tex have Connie’s dog tags? Why did Tex _give_ her Connie’s dog tags? It was a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. Texas bringing her away from the ship and taking away her armour, her AI, at least made practical sense—but the tags _didn’t_. Not unless the tags meant something.

“ _Maybe the data-chip on the inside of the tags contains information!_ ” Iota suggested, her holo appearing in front of Carolina as she stared at the tag. “ _Sure, they’re_ meant _to contain just your medical information, but…_ ”

Carolina’s eyes flashed with realisation. “…but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t re-write it.”

“ _Exactly!_ ” Iota said, clicking her fingers.

That was how, over a year after the invasion, Carolina finally found out what had been happening at the Project. The psychological experiments that had been run; what had happened to the agents from Delta squad; where the AI had really come from; who Texas was and why the twins kept saying ‘Beta’— _everything_ that Connie had found out and passed onto Texas mere days before the end of the Project.

Everything that she’d been manipulated into not seeing, or manipulated into seeing a certain way.

Everything that she’d refused to confront, even when evidence presented itself.

Everything that had torn her team apart from the inside out.

The meltdown that followed the revelations was… intense. By the time it had passed she felt little but an overwhelming sense of numbness, the outside world a distant concept that was out of her reach. The carefully constructed view of her life, of her career, of the years she’d dedicated to the Project— shattered. It was hard not to feel hopeless. For the first few days, that’s _all_ she felt.

Then the numbness passed and she felt _angry._ All of that time, all of those years… after everything she _gave_ …

Within days she’d started planning out what she had to do, how she could get away from Trance and away from Radiance. The Director had vanished after the invasion, that’s what the news reports always said. He was out there, somewhere, free.

She just had to figure out where.

 

**Present Day**

“It took me a long time, but eventually I found my way to Bone Point. I learned that No— _Nikolai_ , had died, and I learned that you two had survived. You know the rest. You found me, and I found you,” Carolina said, sitting forward with her elbows in her knees. “And you know what I’m looking for, what I’m doing.”

South shrugged. “Yeah. You want to find the fucking Director.”

Carolina gave a dry laugh, low and dangerous, before tilting her head forward—a reflex, the tilt that would cast her visor in shadow had she been wearing her helmet. “Not just find—

“—I want to _kill_ the Director.”


	22. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for how long this chapter, last chapter and at least the next one are in comparison to normal, they all rather ran away with me

“Yeah, okay, sooo— how the fuck can we help kill the asshole?”

Carolina lifted her head, cocked a brow. Neither Connie nor South seemed at all surprised by the true nature of her plan, in fact South’s question had been so casual that it took a moment to register what she’d asked. “You realise what exactly it is you’re agreeing to?”

“Fuck yeah I do.” South snorted, mimicked the cocked brow. “That asshole spent five _fucking_ years making my life a living fucking hell. Pitted me against my _twin brother_ for his bullshit, pseudo-scientific fucking experiments and treated me like the fucking shit on his smarmy-ass shoes. Believe me, I know what you’re fucking saying. I will _gladly_ fucking help.”

“I wasn’t going to ask this of you,” Carolina said. “You have new lives. I can’t move forward without doing this, but you’ve _already_ moved forward.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure I ever really did.” Connie sighed, rocked back and forth with her feet still pressed together. She avoided the others’ gaze. “Not completely. I spent more of the last two years obsessively checking the database than I spent ignoring it. It never stopped bothering me. In the end, it was my fault that we ended up in this position at all—” (“Connie…”) “—so I could never truly move on from what happened.” Inhale, exhale. “The point is— I don’t think I can really move forward, either. I was trying to do the right thing by trying to stop the Director and I still want to do that.”

“That’s Connie speak for she’s down to kick the Director’s ass too,” South said, only teasing. Getting up she went over to her side, wrapped an arm around her waist and tucked her close. “This is fucking personal for us too—” Connie’s eyes flicked to Carolina and caught her gaze for a moment, “so y’know, just tell us how we can fucking help.”

“Well,” she said, unsealing the front of her suit just enough to pull out the chain around her neck, “I think the information I have on here is a good start.”

Connie’s dog tags, the catalyst for Carolina’s side of the story and her change of heart. Connie never did find out if Tex had read, let alone believed, the information—she supposed she had that answer now.

“I transferred what I needed from the UNSC database onto here,” Carolina said, waving the tags with the USB extended. She got to her feet, crossed over to the bed where Connie had now reached for the PC. “The twins have been helping me analyse it.”

“Have you really been doing okay with two AI?” Connie asked as she loaded the PC, shuffling back so she could set it in front of her. “It’s not putting too much strain on you?”

“I’ve adapted,” Carolina said. Giving the two AI a mental nudge, they appeared in a flash of pale green on her shoulder before separating out into individual holos. Eta hid behind Iota as she waved excitedly. “I won’t pretend it’s easy, but it’s manageable.”

“ _We’re very small, really. It’s like those files of yours said! Each fragment got a little bit smaller and weaker; together we’re really only the size of maybeeee… Theta! Our voices bother her more than any physical strain_ ,” Iota said, hands moving animatedly. South flinched, slightly, at the mention of her brother’s AI and Iota’s hands flew up to cover her ‘mouth’. “ _Oh! I’m sorry! I should have said Delta._ ”

“Nah, s’fine, lightbulb. No big fucking deal. Never was close to the little dude, bit of a bitch to him really, but hey— that’s what the Director wanted, I guess.” Snorting, she sat back. “See what would make me fucking tick.”

“So I suppose you don’t know what happened to Theta, either,” Carolina asked, the ‘since he wasn’t with North’ implied. South’s only response was a shake of her head. The subject was dropped.

With the drive inserted, the screen filled with the numerous files that Connie had collected throughout her years at Freelancer and some new additions: the UNSC’s files on the Director, the Alpha and the Project’s facilities. Filtering out the old files, most of which were totally irrelevant to the task at hand, Connie pulled up those that Carolina had added.

“The Director has multiple concealed compounds, designed to be used as anything from storage to specialised training facilities,” Carolina said. Pulling up a few specific files she pointed at the screen, moving things about and showing the two what she’d found. “This one here—” she pulled up an image of the outside of a facility and its blueprints, “was found and investigated by the UNSC. I paid it a visit. It’s been equipped to support somebody living there for an extended period of time.”

“Suggesting that the other compounds might be set up a similar way,” Connie said.

Nodding, Carolina pulled up another file: a second compound, no blueprints this time. “This particular compound wasn’t officially documented. Eta and Iota analysed the locations of those known to the UNSC and plotted out potential locations for others. This location hit the mark, but we were unable to get inside. I didn’t have clearance and when we attempting to circumvent F.I.L.S.S. and enter manually, we were met with holographic locks. Any attempt to bypass by deactivating them was followed by another, harder lock.”

“ _We— we tried to help her though them, but we can’t do holographic locks alone and she made too many mistakes we couldn’t— couldn’t fix,_ ” Eta said, peering out from behind Iota. “ _We did— did manage to dip into the systems, though. No one was there._ ”

“Unfortunately not being able to get inside means that we have no idea what the security measures inside an unopened compound are like.” Carolina sighed, scratching at the fabric of the sheets beneath her.

“Where the fuck were these compounds?” South said. “Gotta be within this system, right?”

Carolina nodded again. “The one the UNSC had open wasn’t far from Bone Point. The other was on the same colony as North Valley, but away from the base itself—presumably to make it harder to find. Unfortunately, that trend seems to follow for the other bases, both based off the twins’ predictions and the known locations.”

“Which means that if he isn’t in either of those facilities, he’s not in this system,” Connie said, frowning. “We only have a Pelican, Charlotte. We’re not equipped to move out of system.”

“I know. Which… brings me to the other intelligence I’ve gathered: I know where Charon is keeping the missing footage from that day on the _Mother of Invention._ They have a base on Luminescence—a skyscraper, like the one that housed the Sarcophagus.” Pulling one of her legs up so that it was tucked under the other, she leaned forward slightly. “I was thinking that— well, the footage might show us what happened to the others. Give us some clues as to who got out, with who and how. So that, maybe—”

“—we could find the others,” South finished. “Fuck. You really think that’d help? Connie?”

Connie tilted her head and pulled up a shoulder, her face twisting slightly. “ _Well_ — it’d give me somewhere to start? If I knew who I was looking for and what means of transport they may have had, I could at least try? I’ve gathered a lot of connections in the past two years, I know my way into local databases— in theory, I could pool my resources and give it a damn good go.”

“Before now, I’d barely considered the possibility of finding anyone alive. I wasn’t even sure what I’d do if I did, but after finding you—” Carolina shrugged, corner of her lip quirking up into a half smile. “Let’s say it’s changed my outlook.”

“Fuck yeah, I’d fucking hope so,” South said, playfully elbowing Carolina’s shoulder over Connie. Letting her arm drop to rest on Connie’s head, South grinned as she reacted with only a roll of her eyes. “I mean, we fucking know Nik got out. Same for Tex. Five out of ten, that’s a fucking fifty percent success rate.”

“That and we’ve been working under the assumption that those of us marked down as AWOL were officially spotted leaving the ship,” Connie added. “The only remaining MIAs are Wash and Maine. York, Wyoming, Florida— they were all AWOL.”

“So we got a fucking good-ass chance at finding _someone_.”

With a furrowed brow, Connie gently brushed away South’s arm. “We might, but— that doesn’t solve our transport issue. Why was that relevant to leaving the system, Lina?”

Carolina’s half smile became a faint smirk, her head tilting as if to emote with her helmet once again. “I was waiting for that. That skyscraper holds a wealth of stolen and modified alien technology that Charon’s been working with. A little birdy told me—” Iota puffed up proudly, “—that they have a modified Covenant slipspace drive in that facility, fully tested and designed for small human-made ships. Ships about the size of a Pelican.”

“ _Seriously?_ ” Connie spun around on her knees. “Pelicans travelling in slipspace is unheard of, that would be a major breakthrough and—” she frowned, “—let me guess, keeping it to themselves to make profit later?”

“That’s what it looks like. Charon’s building their way up to being one of the UNSC’s biggest suppliers, but they’re not showing their hand too early. The alien nature of some of their components is still under wraps.”

Connie huffed quietly; it wasn’t the only thing they’d kept under wraps. It was never a secret to her that she hadn’t been working with actual Insurrectionists or that they had ties to the UNSC, but it wasn’t until after the invasion that she’d discovered their employer’s true nature. Whilst something had seemed off, towards the end, by then there was little choice but to bite the bullet and keep working with them—of course, _that_ had backfired spectacularly.

“I’d— have to see the test specifications for myself before I felt like we could risk something like that, but… it’s worth grabbing,” she said after a moment, turning back and pulling the PC onto her lap. “If it’s too dangerous, then we’ll just have to find another mode of transport. Once we need to leave the system.”

“It would be pretty fucking sweet having the ability to slipspace jump,” South said. Flopping back, she folded her arms under her head. “Open up way more fucking opportunities. Stop us being cooped up in this fucking system.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Pause. “But like, c’mon, you gotta admit it’d be awesome.”

“I never denied that it would be.”

“ _Either way_ ,” Carolina was smiling again, amused, “I have the address of the Charon facility. How about it, Natasha? Want to help me beat up some Charon goons?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” A fist pumped the air, then thumped back down against the mattress. “Always ready to kick some fucking ass and it’s about fucking time we got some fucking revenge. Just like— gimme five minutes and I’ll set the auto-pilot.”

With a quiet laugh, Connie kneed her in the hip. “ _Tasha_. The cockpit is less than five metres away.”

“And I am fucking emotionally drained, lemme live. _God._ ” South gave a mock huff. “You hearing this, Lina? This is what I put up with.” A pillow flung over her face and she burst out laughing, rolling over onto her side. “Love you babe.”

“Love you too, you _menace_.”

Carolina watched with fondness that surprised her, thinking back to a slightly rose-tinted time before things had started to fall apart and these interactions were something she witnessed on the daily. Things were irrevocably different now, but— some things never changed.

Other things, however, she hoped would. Maybe, this time, she’d do better by them.

Within an hour the Pelican was flying towards Luminescence and Connie had set up a bedroll for Carolina, cleared out a couple of storage boxes for her things. The trip to Luminescence would take a little over a week, giving them plenty of time both to plan and get adjusted to sharing the space. After two years of both the couple and Carolina having minimal extended human interaction, it would take a little getting used to.

Things were awkward, at first. The bay may have been designed to hold upwards of ten soldiers, but the layout had been significantly modified; whilst Connie and South had long ago found their rhythm and routes around the bay, a third person lead to more than a few collisions in the tight spaces closest to the cockpit. That, and the lack of synchronicity between their body clocks and daily routines, made for a rough couple of days of adjustment.

Besides that, Carolina almost couldn’t believe how well things continued to play out.

It would be naïve to say that her relationship with South, in particular, had ever been truly stable back in the Project, but it would also be cynical to say that they’d never gotten along at all. They’d simply… clashed. It wasn’t that they had no common ground, but the uncommon ground was too hard to ignore. Much of that had come from the leaderboard; the extreme differences between their treatment, at least on the surface; and their matching unwillingness to back down. Now that so much of that had changed, or been cast in a new light—

South had seemed happy to see her, even hugged her. That didn’t change over the following days.

But something had certainly changed, overall.

By the time they reached Luminescence, they’d had plenty of time to settle and to talk. When they weren’t working on what little they could do with the information they had, Connie and South told stories from their lives as mercenaries whilst Carolina listened, prompted with questions and genuine interest.

Often, the conversations would slip into reminiscing about the Project, about the better times. Silly memories, pranks and nonsense and smuggled booze and long nights in the rec room when they were meant to be training in the morning. They were able to laugh about it all, tease each other over things they did; thinking back didn’t hurt quite as much as it used to.

Seven days of travelling later and Luminescence was dead ahead, an extra half day getting them over to the city where Charon’s operations in the system were centred. The skyscraper, emblazoned with the Charon logo, didn’t stand out amongst the various others that surrounded it. It looked much like the building back on Spiral, over a hundred stories and no doubt filled with personnel ranging from scientists to private security.

A quick casing of the building gave them several potential entry points, ready to be matched up with the floorplans that Connie had been able to get access to. In the daylight, that was all they could afford—an unmarked Pelican would attract attention if they stayed in the skies too long—so later that night they returned, hovering in the dark sky above the building and running a more thorough scan. When the sun rose, they retreated back to the outskirts of the city to plan and wait for nightfall.

Their best point of entry was on the roof, as Connie and South had often found it to be during similar jobs. Security in the building was high-level, but the roof contained only minimal cameras and sensors that Connie could easily override remotely. After that, the AI would be able to help with the first lock and any holographic locks encountered would be temporarily deactivated by Connie; with no sign of back-up security measures, it would give them a minute to get through the door before an alarm would be triggered.

“Now, I only have approximate locations for the isolated sever and the slipspace drive. They’re on separate floors of the building, but you’re going to want to hit both targets as close together as possible. Our best bet is going to be taking the data first and then the drive, since, well, I doubt it’s going to be easy getting the latter out of the building.” Connie pointed at each individual target on her screen as she talked, moving the floorplans around. “It can’t be any smaller than the Sarcophagus was.”

Carolina nodded. “I don’t suppose there’ll be any handy window washing units around this time.”

“You know, I have a question about that,” Connie said, attention pulled away from her screen and a quizzical look on her face. “Why didn’t you just have York activate the retraction of the platform to pull the Sarcophagus back up to the roof? The report said you had him lower it to your level and clearly it could handle the weight.”

“The official answer? It would have taken too long. The _real_ answer?” A smirk graced her lips. “It wouldn’t have been any fun.”

South burst out laughing and Connie dropped her head into her hands, barely muffling laughter herself.

Night came. Camouflaged by the dark sky, their ship hovered above the dormant building and two black armoured figures jumped out. The minimal security on the roof proved no issue, with Connie and the AIs’ help they were inside within minutes and making their way through. Most doors were barred by little more than a standard electronic or biometric lock, both of which were easily overridden. Any guards were quickly eliminated by silenced weapons and swift attacks. So their path to the first target, an isolated server room that contained information that Charon would certainly rather never see the light of day, was relatively clear.

Once there, South kept watch at the door with a silenced pistol as Carolina inserted the dog tag drive at the terminal, searching through the files for what they needed.

“There’s a lot of files in here. How many did you want me to take?”

“ _At least five, ideally ten or more. Random, too. We need to disguise what we’re taking._ ”

“Are you _sure_ that’s why, or is it more to do with the potential future uses of these documents?”

“ _…true as that may be, you didn’t have to call me out, Charlotte._ ”

Carolina chuckled.

Ten or more files it was. The footage from the _Mother of Invention’s_ cameras on the 10 th of November, 2550 were accompanied by various incriminating documents that proved Charon involvement in multiple underhand schemes, their possession of a Huragok and the undeclared use of Covenant technology.

When the drive was pulled, Connie dipped into the system remotely to erase all traces of the drive’s origins and exited just as smoothly as she’d entered.

“ _You’re going to meet more opposition on the way to the research labs and storage. They don’t know you’re here yet, but they have some scientists working late and some guards keeping them company._ ”

South snorted. “Fucking about time. This shit gets boring when there’s no asses to kick.”

“You have some rather strange priorities, Nemesis.”

“Like that’s fucking news to you, Athena.”

That earned a half-tilted head, a hand on her hip. “Christened me with a codename, huh?”

“Fuck yeah. You come out on missions like this, you use a fucking codename. Got any objections?”

“Depends. I’ll have to look up what it means.”

“ _Ladies, as much as I love hearing you banter, you’re on a deadline here._ ”

Working together—with Carolina scouting ahead and South following up with swift takedowns on distracted guards, their attentions caught by flashes of movement in their peripheries—they made their way through the remaining floors and halls with no trouble at all until the final guards dropped. At the doors of the engineering lab that held the records for the slipspace drive, the two stood with their backs against the walls on either side of the entrance—Carolina on the left, South on the right.

“ _Two people, a researcher working at a computer with her back to you and a guard that she keeps complaining at. It seems like she doesn’t appreciate being babysat_ ,” Connie said, watching camera feeds from the room. “ _The guard is to the left side of the door._ ”

“Got it babe. Sooo— I’ll take the guard, you get the nerd?”

Carolina shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll get the ‘nerd’. On three. One, two, three—”

Eta popped the door open. South darted inside, slammed a hand against the guard’s throat before he even turned his head. Throwing him against the wall she knocked what little air he still held out of him as Carolina slipped past her, grabbing the researcher around the back of the neck and smashed her head down against the desk. Both targets unconscious, no alarm raised. It was easy, from there, to take the information they needed; the researcher had already been logged into the system and so any activity would be masked without any effort on Connie’s side. The test files and specifications for the _Charon Translight Engine_ joined their other stolen data.

The storage bay wasn’t far. Unguarded besides a holographic lock that they bypassed just as easily as the others—because Charon was ‘too cocky to add a back-up’, Connie reminded them—it contained numerous adapted Covenant technologies, rebranded under Charon’s labels.

Large and filled with tables, display cases and stands, the room echoed that of Spiral’s location; within a few metres of the door, Carolina even found a pair of adapted Plasma Rifles that she readily clipped to her thighs. The feeling of déjà vu was uncanny, a feeling that only grew when she watched South grab what looked to be a shotgun utilising Covenant plasma technology from the nearby table and pose with it for her.

“Whatcha think, Athena? Suit me?” she said, a grin in her voice.

“It’s not a _bad_ look,” Carolina teased, hip-checking her as she wandered past, shaking off that sensation of repetition.

South huffed, looked towards the nearest camera. “Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not. Hey, babe, what do you think?”

“ _I think you should get to finding the slipspace drive and that you look very badass._ ”

“Fucking _nice_.”

Across the room, Carolina called, “Nemesis, come here! I think I’ve found what we’re looking for.”

Attaching the gun to her back, South jogged over. There, at the back of the room, was a slipspace engine that combined the appearances of human and Covenant technology; it was at least as tall as Carolina, making it at minimum an even six feet tall. Lengthwise, it had to be at least eight. Much smaller than _Shaw-Fujikawa_ engines, clearly designed for smaller vessels—but still much, much too big to transport conventionally.

“Well, fuckballs,” South said, folding her arms and staring the engine down. “Yeah, I’m fucking strong but I’m not that fucking strong. No way we’re getting that out easy.”

“No handy unit outside either,” Carolina said. Her lips twitched as she caught South giving her a ‘really?’ look in her periphery. “Looks like we have to do this the slow, hard way. Un _less_ …” she trailed off, hand on her hip and cocking her head.

South snorted. “Uh-oh. Veritas, babe, I think you’re going to hate whatever the fuck is about to come out of her mouth because that’s the sound of improvisation if I’ve ever fucking heard it.”

“Veritas, can you bring the bird around to our side of the building? Line it up with the windows?” Carolina said. The walls were made up of floor to ceiling windows, if they were to smash the panes…

“ _I can give it a shot. If you’re suggesting what I think you are, you only have one shot at this. The second those windows are breached, the alarm is going to be triggered. If I’m quick I can delay it temporarily, but if I’m not…”_

“We’re not getting this out of here any other way. Move around, we’ll get the drive over to the windows.”

“ _Copy that._ ”

Luckily, the display platform the engine was sat on had small wheels that allowed them to move it that short distance with relative ease despite its overall weight. The next issue came in the form of the one-way glass, preventing Connie from seeing in from the outside and forcing her to line up using the cameras from inside the room as a reference point. Only after several minutes of adjustments were they able to get both key pieces in position, the Pelican hovering steady outside and the engine set in front of the corresponding window.

“Ready?” Carolina said, already stood aiming her rifles at the glass.

“ _Ready. Go ahead._ ”

Cued by a shared nod with South, Carolina fired her plasma rifles and used the superheated plasma to melt the glass from the top down. Where the slowly melting line wasn’t smooth, South would blast it with the condensed plasma pellets from her shotgun and finish it off. It was quick work; within two minutes, the open Pelican bay sat unobstructed in front of them.

“ _Alright, hurry up and get that thing inside_.” Her voice over their radios was echoed slightly, now that she was mere metres away. “ _I managed to delay the alarm, but we still need to move quick._ ”

“Got it babe. We’re moving as fucking fast as we can,” South said. Stepping as close to the edge as she dared, she looked down—there was a tiny gap between the ramp and the building, but the Pelican was hovering steadily at that position. “Sooo— push it and hope for the fucking best?”

Carolina shrugged. “Push it and hope for the best.”

The platform rolled over the slight dip and tipped, sending the engine toppling end over end until it landed mostly stable on the floor of the bay. There was an exclamation of shock from up in the cockpit, distantly echoed on the comms, followed by a sigh.

“ _One of these days, this shit is going to be the death of me._ ”

South snickered. “Sorry babe.”

“ _You can apologise properly when you get your butt back into the ship. Preferably in the next thirty seconds._ ”

“Copy that. Hopping over.”

Thirty-one seconds later, the bay doors were closing and the Pelican was heading straight for orbit.

Whilst South ducked into the cockpit to give Connie an apologetic kiss, Carolina managed to brute-force the engine into the emptiest corner of the bay, near the doors. It wasn’t ridiculously heavy—it had to be light enough to not unbalance the Pelican when installed, after all—so it didn’t take long and she was stripping out of her armour by the time footsteps entered the bay.

“Nice fucking work in there.”

A weight dropped into the seat next to her and Carolina half looked up, catching South’s eye briefly before flinching away from the eye contact. South didn’t seem bothered. “You didn’t do so bad yourself. Though, I have to ask— when did you learn _teamwork_ , Natasha?”

There was a beat of silence and, for an agonising moment, Carolina wondered if she’d gone too far with a joke again or if her tone had been more serious than she’d intended.

But South snort-laughed and elbowed her. “Oh shut the fuck up. I could ask the fucking same of you, Charlotte _._ ”

Releasing the breath she’d unconsciously held, Carolina laughed in turn and shoved her in retaliation. A playful shoving and jabbing match ensued and, by the time she came back into the bay, Connie found them almost mid play-fight.

Naturally, she joined in.

 

It was a few hours later, after they’d settled down from the rush of the mission and made sure they were a safe distance away from Charon, that they started to look at what they’d taken.

“There’s enough files here to cause some real damage to Charon, if I ever get the chance to use them…” Connie said, half to herself. “But first things first, the stuff we actually _need_. I’ll need to narrow down the footage to the right time, maybe make a program to track people by their armour colour so it’s not a case of looking through hundreds of cameras by hand…”

“And the specs for that engine?” South said.

“ _And_ the specs for the engine.” Pulling up that particular file, she highlighted portions as she spoke. “I took a quick look and it seems that this particular model was adapted from a retrieved Seraph engine. Small Covvie fighter, about the same size as a Pelican. They broke it down, figured out how it worked, then rebuilt it with a combination of their own tech and the original. Test runnns… all successful. Damn good maximum speed, too; better than any existing engine the UNSC is using for the fleets.”

“Fucking sweet. Nice find, ‘Lina.”

“Are we going to be able to use it?” Carolina asked. Connie pursed her lips for a second, thinking. “We’d have to install it ourselves.”

“Well— that might be a little beyond our expertise. There’s a lot of factors here and we have to make sure that we have everything needed to make this ship safe for slipspace. We don’t need it right away so— it might be worth reaching out in our network, seeing if anyone can help us out.” Clicking a few keys, Connie sat back and reached for South’s data-pad. After checking the file had gone through, she passed it to South. “Think you could put some feelers out? Alex and Darian might be able to help, if you get on the line to them. They still know the network better than we do.”

“Sure, I can fuckin’ do that.” South said as Connie picked up the PC and stood up. “Hey, where you going cutie?”

“To work on the video files. I don’t imagine the footage is going to be a fun watch, so I figured I’d watch it alone. Whilst I do, you can reach out to the network and work on anything else we need done,” she said, nodding towards the cockpit.

“Are you sure?” Carolina asked. “I could watch with you. It was my idea.”

Connie shook her head, but smiled. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. If I need someone to come watch with me for any reason, I’ll say. Promise.”

Frowning, Carolina relented. “Alright…”

Over the course of the next few hours, Connie used an adapted pattern recognition program to track individual agents’ armour. After testing it on herself—clicking away as quickly as she could when she saw them confront Jarrett—she moved on to the others.

It wasn’t all easy to watch. Even when following those who she’d known had gotten away safely, like York, she saw fighting and panic; agents from the lower squads ran about in the background yelling, helped fight the invading Charon forces. No one knew what was going on, no one understood how the ‘Insurrectionists’ had forced their way onto the _Mother of Invention_. No one even knew what the Project had done.

A tightness built in her chest, the longer she watched.

Only when she’d confirmed that everyone had escaped without serious injury did that tightness start to fade. Wyoming and Florida had taken one of the Director’s private ships, leaving well before anyone else. York had hopped into the back of a familiar Pelican with a familiar pilot, whilst North had jumped into a Hornet.  Maine—sat in medical when the invasion hit, just as Connie had hoped—carried a comatose Wash to safety, with their escape mostly out of sight of cameras and only confirmed by the unauthorised Pelican departure that followed long after everyone else had gone.

North may have been dead, but everyone else— she had somewhere to start. Means of escape, physical states, groups. It was more than she’d had before now. Pooling all of her knowledge on her friends and combining it with the new information, she started looking.

Within another couple of hours, she had a lead.

South and Carolina were sat re-examining the blueprints for the open compound, having occupied the previous few hours with various jobs from armour maintenance to supply checks. Breaking, at points, to work off the lingering energy from the job and the restlessness with so-called lazy sparring—as if sparring between the two could ever be anything less than intense.

When the cockpit door opened, South looked up. “Hey babe, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured, despite the lingering constriction around her lungs. “Any luck with the network?”

“Yep,” she held an arm out to Connie, beckoning her over until she came and sat on her lap, “Alex pointed me in the right direction and I found some fucker who goes by the codename Andromeda, expert in military birds apparently. Currently she’s over on Scintilla; I dropped her a line.”

“Well, that’s handy.” South raised a brow, opened her mouth to ask only to be cut off by a quick peck. “Charlotte, am I right in thinking that Aaron O’Casey was one of York’s old aliases for undercover missions?”

Both women straightened up. “Yes, it was. Have you—?”

“There’s records of multiple minor arrests for an Aaron O’Casey on Scintilla, in a small city; Dawn. Mostly breaking and entering, sometimes with theft attached. What _really_ seals the deal, though, is something written in Aaron’s file: ‘suspect claims that he was only breaking into the location to _prove that he could_ ,’” Connie said, face slowly splitting into a grin as Carolina dissolved into laughter.

“God _dammit_ James.”

“Okay, clearly I’m not in on the joke here. How the fuck does that prove it’s York?” South said, squeezing Connie.

“Everyone has their story for how they got into the Project, right? What it was that made it pick us up, like how I revealed that supplier’s negligence.” She giggled, shook her head. “Well, York— he was caught breaking into a secure ONI facility and the excuse he gave was that he was only doing it to prove that he could. Some stupid bet or _something_.”

“Whether that’s the truth or not is another story entirely,” Carolina said, “but that’s his favourite damn excuse. I can’t believe it. Even now, he can’t resist being a _smartass_.”

“Yeah like, fucking no offence Charlotte, but your fucking ex is a dickass and I’m gonna personally fight him.”

Carolina laughed under her breath. “Believe me, I know.”

“Scintilla is two weeks away, _but_ since we have to go there to meet up with Andromeda too _…_ I’d say it’s worth a look, wouldn’t you?” Connie said, smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

They had a lead, an honest-to-god lead in finding another member of the team. There was no question about it.

They were going back to Scintilla.

 

“You know, I’m a little insulted,” York said, scuffing his feet against the floor as he circled the cell for the umpteenth time in the past half hour. “This is the what, seventh—sixth?—” (“Ninth.”) “—Ninth? Wow, really? I swear— anyway, anyway! This is the ninth time I’ve been in this station and I still, _still_ , don’t know you officers by your first names.” He turned on his heel and leaned against the wall beside the door, arms folded. “Really, it’s insulting. Last station I frequented this often, I was on a first name basis with the officers by the fourth time they caught me! I’m starting to think you all don’t like me.”

“We don’t,” the officer outside said, flat.

York twisted his face into an exaggerated grimace. “Ouch. That stings, that _really_ stings. I thought we were starting to develop a connection, you know. Something _real_.”

With a heavy sigh, the officer stood up from the wall outside and wandered away grumbling to himself about how he’d gotten the short straw _again_. Footsteps echoed down the hall and York listened, carefully, until the hissing sound of the door at the other end of the corridor sounded and all was clear.

“Right on time,” he said, stretching his fingers. “That gives us about seven minutes before he convinces one of his buddies to take his place. Plenty of time.”

_Time that I do not believe we should be wasting, James._

“Relax. I’m just talking myself through it, D. I’m not wasting any time.” Pulling the electronic pick out of his inside pocket—they’d given up patting him down after the fifth time he’d been arrested, tired of him and never finding anything anyway—he spun around and affixed it to the door over the rear of the lock. “You do your thing and I’ll do mine. The computer have the network we need?”

_The Police Captain’s computer is connected to the local UNSC network, yes. It is also connected to a system-wide police network._

“Right. Now we just need to get there.” Pressing a few buttons, he watched as the display flashed through various numbers. Tapped his finger against the side in an uneven rhythm.

_I am capable of downloading the information that we need without you leaving this cell._

“Yeah and I don’t want you hopping your little green ass around a civilian police station’s electronics. I already don’t like that I let you out to check the network connection, okay? You can get off my dick about it. We’re on schedule.”

Or they would have been, if the door at the end of the hall hadn’t opened again.

“ _Shit_.” Hitting cancel and slipping the pick away as quickly as he could, York scrambled to assume his position at the back of his cell. Laid widthways on his back over the edge of the bed, legs up against the wall.

He could feel Delta shaking his head at him.

“It’s your lucky day, O’Casey,” said the new officer, keying in the code to the cell door. York cocked his head, grinned when the woman sighed at the position he was in. “On your feet, asshole. You’re being bailed.”

“Uh, say what now?” That wasn’t part of the plan. At least, not this _early._ He was supposed to come _after_ he’d been caught out of his cell, not—

“Some woman with the reddest hair I’ve ever seen’s at the front.”

 _Thump._ A groan of pain. He fell heels-over-head.

The officer rolled her eyes.

 

Carolina tugged at her lip with her teeth, arms folded under her chest. She’d already signed all of the paperwork, leaving her stood awkwardly in the front room of the police station. Waiting. By the ten second mark she’d mentally mapped out all of the exits and by the twenty second mark she’d planned the best way to disarm the officers—just in case. They’d taken all of the normal precautions and no one seemed to suspect a thing, but they weren’t home free until they were out of the door. So, she was a little on edge.

What was _taking_ them so long?

It felt like an eternity before the door opened and the moment of truth finally came, the moment where they’d know for sure if they’d found York or just bailed out a man who was the centre of one too many coincidences.

And there he was. Scruffier than ever and sporting an expression that Carolina knew well: utterly, utterly fake chill.

“There you are,” she said, hand on her hip. An actress she wasn’t, but she only had to bluff for a couple of minutes longer. “I can’t believe you. Again, Aaron? _Again?_ ”

“I know, I know.” He held his hands up, came to stand only a couple of feet away. “I’m absolutely terrible. Honestly, I don’t know why you guys put up with me,” he said, the words slowly taking on a certain weight. “Never was very good at listening to you all, even when it’d do me some good.”

“Yeah. Maybe not.” Offering a smile, she jabbed him in the ribs. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

York, to his credit, managed to hold back his excitement until they were out of sight of the Police Station. As soon as they were, however, Carolina found herself swept up off her feet, _laughing_ with legs flying through the air as he spun them around and around.

“It’s really you! You’re alive! You have no _idea_ how worried I’ve been— well, actually, I suppose you do because I guess you would have been too but— anyway, anyway! You’re okay! And you’re here!” he rambled, thought tracks overlapping as they often did. “I was only even in that police station because I was trying to find a way to— to look for some sign of _someone_ in the local military or police network! How did you _find_ me?”

“If you put me down, I can show you,” she said. With a quick ‘shit, right’ her feet were back on the ground and she stood back, hands on York’s forearms.

“Sorry, got a little over excited. You would not believe how much time to think I’ve had over the past couple years, about the way I acted back there in the Project—”

“James?” He stopped. “It’s alright. We can talk about all of that later. Now come on, Connie and Natasha are waiting.”

“Annnnd just like that, everything makes sense.”

They met back up with Connie and South a couple of blocks away. On the way, Carolina explained the basics of the situation to York who agreed to help without any hesitation. In his own words—

“Never did have it as tough as you three, but— that’s the point, really, isn’t it? I never really did anything to help you all then. It’s the least I can do now.”

He greeted the others with a warm grin and a more subdued excitement, the initial shock having faded away. A one-armed hug for South, who shoved his head down and messed up his hair. A tight hug for Connie, stretched up on her tip-toes and squeezing with all her might.

“Good to see you again, dickface,” South said, grinning wide. York chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m really feeling the love when you’re calling me a dickface,” he said, shaking his head. “No, but seriously, I missed everyone. Last two years have been pretty rough, my first couple arrests were me stealing shit to get by and I’ve been through a couple of aliases. Plus, y’know. I thought everyone was dead, until Nik turned up a little after the year mark. Really shocked me, that did. Things got a little easier after th… at…” slowly, under the weight of a suddenly oppressing silence and hard stares, he trailed off. “…uh, what’s up? What’s that look for?”

“ _What_ did you just say?” South’s shoulders were pulled tight; her eyes narrowed; her breathing almost stalled. York opened his mouth, but she cut him off, “ _Nik_. You said— you said _Nik_. Nik’s fucking _dead_.”

“Uh— nope,” York said, popping his lips on the end of the word. “Very much alive. I should know, we’ve literally been sharing a bed for the past year.” Pause. A look of realisation crossed his face. “Oh, shit. Right. You wouldn’t know he faked his own death, would you? Just… that he ‘die— _whoa!_ ”

Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, South _growled_. “Take us to him. _Now_.”

“I was going to anyway, I need to get my—” She threw him back a step, gritted her teeth. “Right, right, okay. To Nik!”

Connie rested a hand on the small of South’s back.

She softened.

 

York and North’s ‘hideout’, if it could be called that, wasn’t far. A small flat not far from the city centre, it was less secret and more ordinary, hiding in plain sight. The walk there was tense, silent besides York’s incessant awkward babbling. Connie’s never took her hand from South, only moving it so far as to take her hand in hers; it helped, at least a little.

Cracking a bad joke about the way he fumbled with the lock, York pushed the door to the flat open and stepped inside. “Hey, Nik! Guess who’s back early! And’s brought visitors!”

“What?” A voice called. South’s grip on Connie’s hand tightened. “Visitors? I wasn’t even due to come and bail you out until right now, I was just getting read—”

He stepped into the front hall and froze. Neatly styled blonde hair; those ever present bags under his eyes; dressed like some suburban dad and very, very much _alive_.

North was _alive_.

“ _Oh._ Well then.” He cleared his throat, staring at the three familiar faces stood in front of him. Made eye contact, with South. “Hey, sis, long time no—?”

“You _FUCK!_ ”

North was greeted by a punch in the face.


	23. Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reference, < and > are used to denote sign language being used. Also, my Wash uses a different name to canon for some specific headcanon reasons that won't be explained in the fic: Seo-Jun rather than David.

“Ow, careful—” North hissed, flinching as York helped set his now broken and bleeding nose. “Maybe I should do it myself. Hands of a locksmith or not I swear you’re just making it worse.”

“Yeah yeah mister passive aggressive, you get grumpy when you’re in pain I get it,” York said, continuing unfazed by his complaining. “I’m nearly done. Quit ya whining.”

Sitting a few metres away, Connie was rubbing circles on South’s shoulders. Much of the tension had faded, her muscles lax even if her face remained flush with a mix of anger and a sense of overwhelming relief. How _dare_ that asshole fucking _fake his death_ and make her think she’d lost her brother! How _dare_ he make her go through that! He was _alive_ , he was actually _alive_ and all of the grief she’d felt had been for _nothing_ and he was _alive_ and—

“—I just can’t believe he’s just been— been fucking living here in a fucking domestic-ass little flat for a dicksucking _year_ and fucking— I thought he was dead! For like a fucking year! Dead!” she said, gesticulating wildly. Connie let her rant, running her hands soothingly up and down her arms.

“You know, you’re not doing much to reassure me that you won’t punch him again if I let you go over,” she said, gently. South huffed, looking to the side. “Tasha. Hey. It’s okay. You have a right to be pissed off. But I also don’t think you _really_ want to punch your brother again.”

“I knooow.” Sighing, she bumped her head against Connie’s. “If I _promise_ I won’t punch the asshole again will you let me up?”

“Only if you promise really, really convincingly. And give me a kiss.”

“You’re a fucking tyrant, y’know that?” South teased, head-butting her gently one more time and then kissing her forehead. “I super promise that I won’t punch my dumbass brother in his fuckass face. Like, swear on my tits. And you know how much I fucking love my tits.”

Connie giggled, a sound muffled in the promised kiss. “Okay. I think that about covers it,” she said, taking South’s hands and giving them a final squeeze. “Love you.”

York was still fussing over North’s busted nose, now busy cleaning up the last of the blood, until South hip-checked him out of the way so hard that he almost fell over. He made an offended noise whilst South ignored him in favour of half-heartedly shoving her brother. Before North could say a word, she dragged him into a hug.

“You’re a fucking dickhead, you know that Nik?” she mumbled, burying her face in his shoulder. North wrapped his arms around her, cupped the back of her head and sighed softly. “Total fucking dickhead.”

“Yeah, yeah I am,” he said, squeezing her. “Missed you, Nat. You have no— well, no, I suppose if anything you have a better idea of how much of a relief it is to see you.”

“Total. _Dickhead_ ,” she said again, before she slipped into a stream of rapid, hushed Russian. Rambled about how _fucking_ much she’d missed him; how it had felt to think he was _dead_ ; how much she’d _resented_ him back in the Project; how much the way he’d acted had _hurt_ her—everything she hadn’t got to say before everything went to shit. It was disjointed and messy, emotional and sharp, but they’d have time to smooth out the edges later.

When she fell silent, North simply said, “ _Прости_ _,_ _Наташа_ _._ _Прости_.”

“ _Тебе_ _лучше_ _быть_ _._ ”

A little later and the five ex-agents were sat around the living room, York and South on either side of North whilst Connie took a spare chair and Carolina sat on the floor in front of her. After Connie, South and Carolina told their stories, the events that had lead them here, York expanded on his own.

As Connie had seen on the tapes, he escaped with the help of Niner and her Pelican. They’d waited, for a while, to see if they could grab anyone else but eventually Niner made the decision to leave, rather than risk waiting any longer. The ship had enough fuel left to get them as far as Scintilla, but little else; they were forced to land here and, since then, York hadn’t left.

“Turns out, they actually tailed us. Not to our exact location, but— I had people right on my ass for _weeks_. By the time it settled down I had no supplies, no money and nowhere to go. Like I said earlier, my first few arrests were me stealing shit I needed just to get by. Eventually I started doing odd jobs, saving up to try rent the cheapest damn place to live I could find, but it was slow going,” he said. “Didn’t help that every time I nearly got caught I had to switch aliases and move on. Hey, D, how many times did that happen again?”

“ _We were required to change identity and location no less than three separate times in the span of a year,_ ” Delta said, hovering above York’s shoulder. Theta was floating close by, quietly kicking his legs and swinging his arms. “ _Aaron O’Casey is the only identity which hasn’t been challenged by potential recognition of James as an ex-agent of Project Freelancer._ ”

“Yeah, what he said.”

“You know, I think I saw you two once. Almost a year and a half ago now. We were here for this job, this— this thing we were doing, to stop child trafficking and— well, anyway, I remember seeing this flash of bright green, somewhere in the city crowd,” Connie said, gesturing vaguely as she spoke. “By the time I looked, it was gone, but—”

“That was probably us. D wasn’t very good at the whole ‘being discreet’ thing, at first, were you D?” York grinned at Delta, who despite his lack of any discernible expression seemed very insulted. “Man, that’s weird to think about. You were that close.”

“And what about you, Nikolai?” Carolina said, leaning forward over her knees. “The report the UNSC wrote on your death— it was sound. There were no faults to explain how you could have gotten out of that situation alive.”

North sighed. Ruffling South’s hair and earning himself an elbow in the ribs, he said, “Well, it wasn’t easy. After I left the _Invention_ , I was tailed just like James, but it never really calmed down. Eventually I had no choice but to fake my death because they were that close to catching me anyway. So, I stole another set of armour for myself and placed my own armour on a passable fake body. After that I set the trap and Theta here,” he reached out and ‘petted’ Theta’s holographic head, “pulled off a very well-timed bubble. It was dark by the time the building blew and in the panic that followed, we managed to escape.”

“I just want you to know, cockass, that I’m never fucking letting you live this shit down. Ever. Like you’re never winning a fucking argument again because whenever you fucking even _try_ , y’know what I’m gonna have to say?” South said, setting him with a glare. “I’m gonna fucking say ‘yeah and which one of us faked their fucking death, traumatising the other?’ Every argument, motherfucker. Every. Fucking. Argument.”

“That’s fair.”

“Well,” Connie said, struggling not to laugh, “that explains that. You not having Theta had us wondering what happened to the poor little guy, so it’s nice to see him safe and sound too.”

Theta perked up. “ _You too, Connie! We were really worried!_ ”

“It’s been a long couple years of bullshit and worrying. Nik only even found me by chance, y’know. Even if we’d figured out you were all alive, we’d have stood no chance of finding you,” York said, sighing softly. Though, after a second, his face split into a grin. “But hey. You found us.”

“We did,” Carolina said with a smile. “What happened to Niner? Do you know where she went?”

“Oh, yeah, sure I do. Sometime after she left she started ferrying around people who could pay her, y’know, mostly taking rich assholes between colonies. Supplements it by doing work on people’s ships, too, all that kinda stuff,” York said, waving a hand. Slowly but all at once, South, Connie and Carolina turned to look at each other. “She still comes by to visit sometimes when she’s in the area. Did pretty recently, actually; she might even still be nearby.”

“You thinking what I’m fucking thinking?” South said.

“I think so. James, do you by any chance know what alias or codename Niner’s been using?” Carolina asked whilst Connie climbed past her, going to South with their data-pad in hand.

“Uh, Andromeda, I think? Why?”

South burst out laughing, throwing her head over the back of the sofa. “Fucking— you couldn’t make this shit up. You could not make this fucking bullshit up. _Fuck_.”

“We contacted a member of our wider network before coming here because we needed someone with expertise in military ships to help us install a slipspace drive into our Pelican.” Connie typed quickly, not looking up from the screen.

York frowned and North went to open his mouth, but South cut them off. “Charon bullshit. Y’know, the fuckers we kept fighting.”

“Ohhh.”

“The point _being_ ,” Connie said, grin spreading across her face, “we have a meeting with her _tomorrow_. We came here thinking we were just going to find you, James, then do this meeting and leave but— instead we find you, Nikolai and our contact is _Niner._ Tasha’s right, you really couldn’t make this up.”

“What’re you sending her? I assume that’s what you’re doing.” Standing up, Carolina came to hover by Connie who glanced back at her with her grin set firm.

“Just: ‘AI haven’t stolen your job yet after all, huh?’ I think she’ll understand.”

If the reply—

 **Andromeda** [ _Okay so which one of my team of smartass shits are you?_ ]

—was anything to go by, she _definitely_ had.

York and North offered the others their living room floor as somewhere to spend the night, rather than having to walk back to the ship when it was already getting late. The group got comfortable, spending much of the rest of the night chatting both with each other and Niner, filling her in on everything she’d need to know in advance of their meeting the following day. It was relaxed, familiar; with the TV on in the background, the AI now able to openly gather to talk and the companionable conversation, the antics, it was reminiscent of one of their many nights gathered in the rec room.

Just with a couple people missing.

Connie, South and Carolina all laid down that night in a huddle on the floor atop a pile of duvets, blankets and pillows to shield them from the hard ground. Comfortable chatter became comfortable silence and they slept soundly, used to the close quarters and the sound of each other’s breathing.

Afternoon crept up on them much quicker than they’d expected. Despite their limited belongings it took most of the morning to gather up York and North’s bags, so by the time they’d made it back to the Pelican they had less than half an hour before Niner was supposed to arrive, time that was spent trying to rearrange the bay to support an additional two people.

“This is going to get _very_ cramped _very_ quickly,” Carolina said, her arms folded under her chest as she surveyed the bay. “I’m not sure we thought this through.”

“Nah, we’ll be fucking fine. Look, we’ll move your bedroll inside the curtains and then those assholes can have theirs out in the rest of the bay! Long as we roll the fucking things up when we’re not asleep then there’s still space to like, move the fuck around.” Pointing as she explained, South shrugged. “Simple.”

“Wouldn’t that be intruding on your personal area?”

South made a ‘pfft’ noise, set a hand on her hip. “Nah. Fuck no. We gotta use the space and I’d rather have you in there than Nik or fucking James, babe. Believe me.”

“…have you _always_ used ‘babe’ to refer to people that weren’t Connie?” Carolina raised a brow.

“That’d be fucking telling.” South grinned, turned on her heel. Carolina stared after her, mouth slightly agape. “Grab your bedroll and get it set up on Connie’s side of the bed, I’ll go kick my brother and his dumbass boyfriend into moving their shit in.”

“Hey, no—” Carolina jogged after her, “what does that _mean_ , Natasha? Natasha!”

Without the grin ever leaving South’s face the two bickered playfully back and forth, distracting themselves from the task at hand until Connie butted in. It didn’t stop them, but it did get them to work at the same time. Somehow, after a few minutes of this, the now off-topic bickering attracted input from Connie, York and North one by one until the entire bay was filled with back and forth that had long since diverted away from where it had started.

It was this scene that greeted Niner when she arrived at the Pelican a few minutes later, the bay doors open and their antics on display for all the world to see.

“Wow you assholes really haven’t changed, have you?” she said, with that dry snark that Niner wore so well.

Five heads turned all at once and Niner met them all with a smirk and bright eyes, the sleek black flight jacket she wore a far cry from armour and a heavy bag thrown over her shoulder.

Another grin spread across South’s face and she threw the blanket she was unfolding over North’s head in favour of jumping down the ramp. “Fucking damn right we haven’t, bitch! There you fucking are!”

Niner welcomed the hug that followed with a tight squeeze and a punch in the gut, to which South retaliated with a shove that nearly knocked her off her feet.

“ _Fuck_ you’re strong. How about we _don’t_ break the woman who’s just come to help your asses, huh?” she said, rolling her eyes and tossing her bag at South. Catching it, South huffed. “Just my tools. Gonna need that shit to work on this bird of yours. Nice paintjob, by the way. No sarcasm.”

“It’s served us well,” Connie said, appearing behind South with an arm looped around her waist. “We did joke that ripping out most of the fittings would have you turning in your grave, so to speak. Or make you want to kick our butts for ruining a perfectly good ship.”

“Well, we’ll leave judgement on the last bit until I see exactly what the fuck you’ve done to her,” Niner said. Playfully pushing Connie’s head back, earning a laugh, she pushed past the two and headed up the ramp. Her survey of the damage done to the bay was interrupted quickly when she caught sight of Carolina, her smirk growing into a grin. “There’s my co-pilot. Looking good, like the messy kinda half-dead look, it suits you,” she said, half-teasing half-serious.

Carolina rolled her eyes but smiled, welcoming the hug she was dragged into. “Not all of us have had the luxury of rest and rich clients the past couple years, you know,” she teased in return.

“No kidding. Sure sounds like it ain’t been that easy for some.” Letting go, she gave a lazy salute-wave at the men standing behind her. “Hey James, hey Nik.”

York made a face of mock offence. “That’s all we get, huh Lani? No hug?”

“Damn fucking right that’s all you get. Seen enough of you assholes the past couple years as it is, you’ve had your fill,” she said. York looked more offended; Niner flipped him the bird. “Alright, so, now that greetings are out of the way—” she turned to Connie and South, “—you want me to install _what_ in this fucking thing?”

They showed Niner the slipspace engine along with all of the documentation, filling in the blanks from her original communication with South. More than a little awed by the existence of the drive, she spent a while just re-reading the files to be sure it was definitely legitimate before even considering how installation would work.

“Okay, so, first questions first: is this a Charon bird, or a Project bird? Because that’s gonna make all the difference,” she asked.

“Charon,” Connie said. “Why?”

“Oh, well this is going to be a damn sight easier than I expected then. Sweet.” Jumping up she went over to the engine. “See, the issues we were gonna have were one,” she raised a finger, “finding space for the damn thing and two,” she raised another, “getting shielding. You know, so the slipstream doesn’t tear you apart the second you try and enter it.”

“Right. So what difference does it make who the ship belonged to?” Carolina’s arms folded.

“A big fucking difference, that’s what. Charon _invented_ this drive, so, they intended to use it on their _own ships_. This baby—” she knocked the wall of the Pelican, “—will already have shielding _and_ will be designed so that this engine can fit snugly in with the normal mechanics. Might even have the upgraded fuel supply, too. Saves us a hell of a lot of trouble.”

“I’m gonna fucking guess it has the fuel bullshit, because we’ve been flying our asses back and forth across the fucking system. Tank gets us a trip both ways,” South said.

Niner whistled. “Goddamn this really is going to be easier than I expected. Alright then! Tash, Lina, you’re strong as shit, think you can get this engine outside for me?”

“Sure.”

“If you need a couple extra pairs of hands, we can help,” York said, waving a hand.

“James what did I just say about having seen enough of you assholes?” Niner said, rolling her eyes as York huffed and North laughed. “Seriously, you hearing this guy? How’d we ever put up with him?”

“We didn’t,” everyone said in unison.

After a single beat of silence, they burst into laughter.

York pouted. “Y’know I’d say I don’t deserve this _but_ — pretty sure I’d lose that fight.”

Being as heavy as it was, moving the engine did become a group affair—despite the ribbing that York received. For the rest of the day they gathered outside as Niner and South worked on the engine, helping where they could but otherwise refreshing York and North on the information that they had so far.

Delta was quick to contribute his own deductions about compound locations, narrowing down Eta and Iota’s previous predictions by re-examining the data. Theta, thinking a little more outside the box, added a more original viewpoint. With the AI’s input combined and supplemented with Connie’s own deductions, they soon had a list of no more than six locations the Director was likely to have fled to.

It was better, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Hey, Nik, what about this one?” South held up one of the tools from Niner’s bag, waving it vaguely in North’s direction. North blinked at her, completely deadpan.

“No, Nat, I don’t know what that’s called either. Whatever point you’re trying to prove about how little I still know about tools, you’ve proved it,” he said, remaining deadpan as she grinned and laughed. “Love you too, sis.”

“Hey, look, I’m holding what shit over you I can,” she teased. The deadpan cracked and he shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Also, it’s just funny that you keep fucking trying.”

“How close are you to being done?” Carolina said, stopping mid push-up. Connie had moved on from tracking the Director to tracking their friends and there had been little she could do to help.

Niner finished adjusting something inside the open compartment. “Nearly there. Just gotta give her a once over then run some checks using the ship’s systems and we should be good.”

“Good. Connie?”

“I have a couple of potential leads I’m still working on, same ones I found during the trip over here, related to that Pelican sighting and crash? Maine and Wash never really had need for aliases so it’s harder to pinpoint them, but… let’s say that Maine… stands out, a little, around the general population,” Connie said. Catching York’s flash of confusion, she laughed and pointed upwards. “You know, because they’re over seven feet tall?”

“Ohhh, _right_.”

“I’d have thought you’d remember that, James. Considering your reaction when you first met them.” Carolina jumped her legs forward and sat up, a cheeky glint in her eye.

York groaned. “Man I really am never going to live that down, am I?”

“No, James,” she barely held back her laughter, “you’re never going to live down asking Maine ‘so, come here often?’ when you first saw them in the locker room.”

“Don’t think they ever got over that first impression.”

Connie shook her head. “ _Anyway_ , the crash was visible from more than one town so to narrow it down any further I’m going to need access to local CCTV. Which means getting back to Luminescence.”

“Didn’t you say that’s like— two weeks travel?” York said.

“Normally, yeah, but we have the slipspace drive now. Travelling just became a whole lot easier,” Connie said, nodding towards the Pelican. “With how fast it goes we can cross that distance in a few hours, maximum.”

“Do you guys even know how to plot a damn course on this thing?” Niner wiped off her hands, hopping down from the box she’d been stood on whilst South closed up the panels.

“…there’s the manual?” Connie said, pitch raising. Niner folded her arms and gave her a look. “I’m sure we can figure it out, Lani. We’ve been flying her around for over two years now.”

“Plotting a slipspace trip is different to using the normal auto-pilot and shit, I’ll show you how it works after I run those checks,” she said. Grabbing the edge of the Pelican’s open bay and hopping up over the edge of the ramp, she ducked inside and called back, “I’ll call you in when I’m done!”

They cleaned up outside whilst Niner worked. She called them in about twenty minutes later and instructed them on the slipspace systems; how to plot a course, how to estimate the travel time, how to initiate the jump and so on. It was a little more complex than the default systems but not so much that they couldn’t grasp the theory with relative ease.

“I’d say don’t go tearing a big hole in the fabric of reality when you use this thing, but that’s kinda what it does so y’know, just try not to tear open the _wrong_ hole or some shit,” Niner said when they were done, sitting sideways in the pilot’s seat. “I actually missed you assholes, don’t want you to go off and die because you don’t know how the fuck to use a slipspace drive.”

“Calm your tits bitch we’ll be fine,” South said, kicking her in the shin. “Survived enough bullshit so far. We’re not getting taken out by us fucking up a jump.”

“Yeah well don’t call my ass if you get stuck on the other side of the fucking galaxy or some shit, that’ll be on you,” Niner retorted, kicking her back.

“Sure you don’t wanna come along for the ride?”

“Nah, sorry Tash, I wish you all the fucking best and I hope you get the dude but whilst I may be a fucking kickass pilot, I’m no special ops badass. Besides, I got no way to follow you and I sure as hell ain’t abandoning my ship,” she said, shrugging. “You know how to find me when it’s all said and done. Be happy to help you out if you ever need another pilot or help with the ship.”

South kicked her again, earning a sharper jab in the gut in retaliation. “Fuck yeah, we’ll definitely hit you up.”

“Take care of yourself, okay? If we do this, the heat surrounding being associated with the Project might come down hard again,” Connie said. Niner stood up, quirked a smile.

“Don’t you worry about me, tiny. Been flying free ever since I ditched James here, no UNSC asshole’s clipping _my_ wings.” Punching Connie in the shoulder, she chuckled. “C’mon, I’ll spend the rest of the day with you fuckers before I have to leave. No harm in that.”

For the few remaining hours of daylight they chattered about old times and poked fun. Niner left when it was just dark enough to fly without being spotted, returning to her own Pelican with a wish of good luck. They watched her fly away and then settled down for the night, ready to leave in the early hours.

Morning came and they flew a safe distance from the planet and set the course for Luminescence. After double and triple-checking their numbers, making absolutely _certain_ that they had the right coordinates and procedures, they braced themselves and initiated the jump.

They weren’t torn apart, so that was a good start.

“Like I said, this should only take a few hours tops with the speed we have going for us,” Connie said once the initial moment of anticipation had passed. “May as well use that time to catch up on sleep or necessary work.”

So that was what they did and, as predicted, they arrived within a couple of hours. The ship was still in sound condition and when Connie checked, they hadn’t lost any unexplainable amount of time. As far as they could tell, they now had a reliable means of long-distance transportation.

In the words of South, that was, “Fucking sweet.”

Whilst flying toward the rough location that Connie had narrowed the search for Maine and Wash down to, she accessed the local camera networks. Much like she’d done with the footage from the _Invention_ , a program scanned through hours upon hours of footage for signs of familiar faces—or at least, Maine’s familiar height. _That_ was what she was banking on. At over seven feet tall, they would stand well above the crowds.

By the time they’d reached the airspace above the cities, she’d found just what they needed.

 

“Oh c’mon, Mateja, I know I picked our luxury food last time but it’s been ages since we’ve seen decently priced pork! There’s always cinnamon rolls! They’re just too expensive or we’d have them every week!”

Maine huffed gently, pulling Wash’s hood up and then down to cover his face. He gave an indignant squawk and batted at their hand, elbowed them in the ribs. A self-satisfied smile crept onto their face and they rumbled a laugh, pulling the hood back down.

“You’re so rude, you know that?” Wash said, trying his best to look annoyed despite the grin that was fighting to show itself. “How’d you like it if I pulled your beanie down over your face, huh?”

Subconsciously, their hand raised to the back of their head. A simple black beanie covered their shaved scalp, stretched further back than it was forward. <Couldn’t reach. Not issue.>

“Oh yeah? I’ve climbed you before, Mat. I’ll do it again. Don’t test me.” He crossed his arms, raised his brows at Maine. All it earned him was ruffled hair, to which he huffed and batted at their hand again. “You’re lucky I love you, big guy.”

<I know.> They leaned down to kiss the top of his head, allowed themself to be pulled so that Wash could kiss them properly on the lips. It only lasted a few seconds before someone knocked into Maine, catching them just off-guard enough to make them stumble and break it, but Wash seemed satisfied. <Were saying about the pork?>

“Right! Yeah! You _know_ I cook a mean _tangsuyuk_ and we can get cinnamon rolls the next two weeks if you want!” Wash said, picking up where he left off in his case for the pork. There was no real annoyance behind the argument, the two of them were just painfully stubborn and willing to waste time on playful fights. It had become a routine, of sorts, since they’d been living here. By now, Maine knew the rhythm well.

So as Wash continued to ramble, Maine let their attention wander a little. Scanning idly over the crowd they looked for other stalls they might need to go to, over the heads of people going about their daily business. When their eyes were drawn to a café they didn’t really know why; it was the same café that they saw every time they came into this marketplace and that they’d sat at with Wash more than once. And, really, nothing was different about the café itself. No, what had caught their attention was someone sitting at one of the tables. A familiar face, one they hadn’t seen in two years now and that was greeting them with a bright smile.

Without looking away, they nudged Wash in the side. Wash responded by nudging back, continued talking without more than a second’s pause to grunt. So Maine nudged him again, growling softly to try and get his attention. When Wash still didn’t turn, nudging back as if it was just a part of their silly argument, they nudged again. And again. And soon began just repeatedly knocking him until—

Wash spun around. “Okay, okay! What the fuck Mat— _holy shit._ ”

Connie laughed, waving a little more pointedly and raising a brow at them. Wash stood just staring at her for a solid minute before grabbing Maine by the wrist, tugging them through the crowds towards the café. Connie was out of her seat before they even got there, so when Wash all but ran over to her and pulled her into a hug she greeted him with open arms and an amused grin on her face. Peering over his shoulder, she shared a look with Maine.

“Connie! You’re— you’re— holy _shit_ ,” Wash said, hugging her as tightly as he could. She stretched up on her toes to keep hold of him.

“Yeah, holy shit,” she mimicked, pulling back. She cupped his face with a hand, laughing a relieved laugh. “It’s so good to see you _okay_ , the last time I saw you— well, you weren’t looking so good, Wash.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess I wasn’t.” He awkwardly scratched the back of his head with an uneasy laugh. “But— But I’m okay now. Well, better. Than I was. Less… scream-y. Less a lot of things.”

“Good. Had us worried, rookie,” Connie said, patting his face. She peered around him, smiled up at Maine and beckoned them with an outstretched hand. “Hey, big guy, I get a hug from you too? I’ve missed you as well.”

Maine shrugged, but there was a smile on their face and they wrapped Connie up in a hug that lifted her off the floor without a moment’s hesitation. She lit up and squeezed them tight around the shoulders, hooking her legs around their sides.

“Good to see you, big guy,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment to push back relieved tears that threatened to well in them. Taking a deep breath in, she pulled back just enough that she could look at Maine; adjusting their beanie and cupping the sides of their head, she kissed their forehead. “I missed the two of you, so, so much. I’m so glad you’re _safe_.”

“You too, Connie,” Wash said. As soon as Maine set her down, he pulled her into another hug. “We’ve been so worried, so much has happened and we’ve kinda been cut off from things here. We’d get flashes of news about the Project but— nothing to tell us about you guys.”

“Believe me, it’s be the same for most of us.” Ruffling his hair, Connie smiled. “But we’re okay. We’re _all_ okay.” A flash of confusion mixed with delight crossed their faces and her smile grew. “Everyone’s with us, besides Wyoming and Florida. It’s a long story, more than one actually, but— everyone’s okay.”

“Oh, thank god.” Wash gave a heavy breath, shoulders noticeably dropping and his hands flapping slightly at his sides now that they were otherwise unoccupied.

Maine mussed up his hair, making him laugh and huff at the same time, before signing. <Want us to come, too?>

“If you want to, after I’ve explained what we’re planning,” Connie said. “I’ll tell you on the way to wherever you’ve been staying. If you want to come, we can grab your stuff and leave. If you don’t, you can stay and I’ll just promise to visit.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” Wash said. Resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing, he smiled. “I think— I think we’ll want to come, though. Whatever it is.”

Connie smiled back.

They started walking back to Wash and Maine’s home for the past two years, another small flat that was liveable and affordable with their equally small budget. Connie clambered onto Maine’s back for the trip, for old times’ sake, her arms draped around their shoulders and legs around their torso. Maine was more than happy to let her.

For what felt like the hundredth time in the past month, Connie explained the past two and a half years or so starting from a couple of months before the invasion happened. With an almost full picture now given by Carolina, York and North’s versions of events she was able to tell them everything they would need to know—ending with that same, final statement: they were going to kill the Director.

Like everyone before them, Wash and Maine were quick to agree to help.

“Believe me after what happened to us— there’s nothing more we want than to see him pay. Well, him and the Counselor,” Wash said, squeezing Maine’s hand as they grunted.

When Connie questioned what had happened to them, after they’d escaped, they’d reached the door of their flat.

“I don’t really… remember, a lot of the first couple weeks?” Wash unlocked the door and they stepped inside, Maine ducking so that neither they nor Connie hit their heads on the frame. “Mateja had to fill me in on what happened.”

Maine set Connie down on one of the main room’s seats and sat on the floor. <Was in med-bay, when alarms went off. Didn’t take seriously, at first. Didn’t leave him. Not until man from the highway, he came in. After that— got him out.>

“Yeah, yeah I— I saw, on the tapes. You killed the sleeveless Charon soldier and saved Seo-Jun by getting him out of there,” Connie said, softly. Wash pressed a kiss to the top of Maine’s head as he passed them, coming around to sit by Connie. “It’s lucky you were there. If you hadn’t been, I have no idea what would have happened to him. I guess you’d be in custody?” she glanced at Wash. He shrugged.

“If I was, they wouldn’t have gotten anything out of me. Epsilon— Epsilon did a number on me, Connie. When I woke up, I didn’t even remember who I was,” he said. Following a string around his neck, he tugged a chew from under his shirt and bit down on it. “I didn’t fully come out of that state for a few weeks; sometimes I’d have flashes, but other times I’d think I was the Alpha or Leonard Church or just… nothing.”

<Worried. Took weeks and patience, to bring him back,> Maine signed. Wash gave them a gentle smile. <Did, in the end. Wasn’t easy. Had my own fight.>

“You did amazing, Mateja,” Wash said, reaching out and offering his hand. They took it without hesitation. “It still happens sometimes, but it’s a lot better than it was. I can function, for the most part; Mateja keeps me grounded. Helps when I disassociate or the memories come back or whatever other bullshit side effects decide to rear their ugly heads.”

“Right,” Connie frowned, rested a hand on Wash’s back, “the way Epsilon fell apart— I’m surprised they didn’t do more damage, honestly. I’m relieved they didn’t. But— but Mateja, what do you mean? About having your own fight?”

A rumbling noise sounded deep in Maine’s chest and their hand rose to the back of their neck. There was a moment’s hesitation, then they pulled their beanie off and turned their head just enough to expose the black ink that painted their skin.

Connie’s confusion only grew.

<Sigma. He was—> their hands stalled, faltered over the next sign, <—bad. Started okay, but then started… acting strange. Obsessed with that concept.>

“Metastability?” Maine nodded at her. “Yeah, I remember that. In class, he’d always ask.”

<Always. Never stopped. Subtle enough, at first. Seemed curious, harmless. Until started asking things, asking for… help. Said no, but he got… manipulative. Forceful. Would pull him, but… stopped me. Physically stopped. Dug deeper into my head. Deeper than felt right and _controlled_ , stopped from telling people.>

Wash took their hand again and kissed the knuckles. “That fight, Mateja and I had? I— they’d started to avoid everyone, to keep us safe. I confronted them and it became a fight because they saw no other option than pushing me away.”

<Threatened people, Sigma. Knew he could control me, so. Had to be careful.> They sighed. <Fought him off, to sit by Seo-Jun. Until Seo-Jun was better.>

“When I was more coherent, they explained everything that had happened and I pulled him. Sigma could control Mateja but he couldn’t control me. We just had to restrain Mat then I pulled the chip. Tossed it uh— down the toilet.” He chuckled, a little. Maine shook their head at him, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. “You still get intrusive thoughts that sound like him sometimes, don’t you big guy?” A nod. It was their turn to take his hand, lacing their fingers. “So— it’s mostly been two years of recovering from the AI, really.”

“Shit, you guys…” Connie pulled Wash into a hug, squeezing him as tightly as she could before offering an arm to Maine and beckoning them over. They came and wrapped their arms around both of them. “That’s so— I don’t think I really have the words.”

“Messed up, huh?” Wash bumped his head against hers. “What happened to you guys was messed up, too. Everything was. I’m uh— I’m very aware of that now.” He tapped his head. “Got all the memories. But— hey, what’s happened has happened and now you’re here because we’re going to do something about it, right?”

Connie swallowed a lump in her throat. “We’re going to find him. He’s going to pay for everything he did.”

Everything the Director had done, everything messed up that had happened, to them, the others— how much of it could she have stopped if she’d acted earlier? How much of it did she make worse by making everything fall apart?

How much of this was her fault?

Within a half hour they had everything packed up—armour; extra supplies; personal items. The walk back to the ship was another hour or so, hidden on the outskirts as always; they spent the time sharing more positive stories, funny anecdotes and playful teasing. Connie felt one of many weights lift from her shoulders as she slipped right back into place with her best friends; on some level they’d all been changed by what had happened, but their friendship clicked just as well as it did before.

Her feet wiggled and kicked against Maine’s gut and she clung to them, grin never leaving her face.

Maine and Wash were welcomed by hugs and enthusiastic greetings, Connie having to fight to get free from Maine’s back before they were consumed. South came to kiss her as she swung her arms in joy-filled circles, bounced on the tips of her toes. Everyone was here. Everyone was _okay_ and _here_.

Neither of them had ever dared to hope for this much.

“You good?” South asked, tucking Connie’s hair behind her ear. Connie leaned into her hand, grin spread across her face.

“Yeah, I’m good. Very good,” she said, kissing South’s palm and then her lips. She felt the smile that pulled at them and squeaked as South swept her off her feet, wrapped her legs around her hips and clung on. “Tasha!”

“So good to see you fucking happy,” South said, smushing her cheek with a kiss. “Shit’s looking up, huh? Shit’s really fucking looking up.”

“Shit’s really fucking looking up,” Connie mimicked, retaliating with a nose nuzzle.

Catching the exchange over Maine’s shoulder as she held them in a long hug, Carolina smiled.

Multiple hugs, hair ruffles and explanations later, they were all gathered around the Pelican bay laying out what they knew so far for Wash and Maine. They listened intently and Wash was able to add to their pool of information in small ways, with Alpha’s memories still imbedded into his mind. It wasn’t much, but every little helped.

They pooled their resources. There were seven of them total—they’d decided against trying to find Wyoming and Florida, with their ties to the Director—with everyone still having their armour and three still having AI. Carolina, South and Connie already had weapons at hand and with the network, it wouldn’t be hard to get more. Training would fix the fact that some of them were out of practice fighting.

“We can totally fucking pull this off,” South said, huffing dismissively as she tucked Connie into her lap. “We have all the shit we could ever need and the fucking _best_ the Director might have protecting his ass is a Wyoming and Florida, who aren’t gonna be able to stand up to fucking seven of us.”

“I doubt he even has them. They were on his side in the Project, but they left without him on that footage. I don’t think they care enough to risk their lives,” Connie said.

“Even fucking better.”

“It still isn’t going to be easy.” Carolina’s voice had a distinct seriousness to it, a familiar undertone of leadership. “The Director has done… terrible things up until this point, doing worse to protect himself won’t be beyond him. He took the Alpha and not every unassigned fragment was recovered, either. We have to be prepared for _anything_.”

“I think we can do it. One more mission, one last hurrah,” York said, grinning.

Wash nodded. “With a little revenge thrown in for good measure.”

“Yeah, one more team mission.” Connie squeezed South’s hand, Carolina’s arm. Both returned the gesture, though one with a moment’s hesitation. “For old times’ sake.”

Now all they had to do was find him.


	24. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a note to the previous chapter now, but I forgot to note that my Wash goes by 'Seo-Jun' rather than 'David', to explain that.
> 
> We’re in the final stretch now, just three chapters left after this.

A few days later, the team had found a concealed location on Luminescence to hunker down to train and work. Miles from any substantial civilisation and surrounded by camouflaging forest, they were as far away from people who may recognise them as possible. With almost all of the surviving Alpha squad Freelancers gathered in one place, they couldn’t afford to take any chances.

Connie remained hyperaware of that risk, despite carefully picking their location to cover it. If someone stumbled across them and knew enough to report their sighting to the local bounty hunters or the UNSC, it would lead them to _everyone_. Maine and Wash, who had avoided attention for the past two years; Carolina, no doubt one of their prime targets; North, who the UNSC thought was dead. Being gathered together like this… it risked giving them everything they wanted all at once.

When she’d brought up her fear to South and Carolina, Carolina had volunteered to take a run to the nearest city with some help from her unit to pick up specialised surveillance equipment. She returned buzzed up and triumphant, with cameras and motion sensors that Connie could set up in the surrounding area—which she helped her do, until the energy supplements she’d taken to facilitate her unit use wore off and she crashed.

“You know,” Connie said, helping a drained yet still stubbornly reluctant Carolina over to the bed, “you get me worried that you’re going to kill yourself with these supplements one day, Charlotte. I saw it back in the Project, too.”

“Not using them would kill me quicker,” Carolina fired back, though she softened a little when Connie gave her a concerned look. “Sorry. You weren’t being rude. But it’s true; that unit uses a lot of energy, even with the twins running it. My tolerance for the supplements decreased during my year of inactivity, that’s all.”

“Alright, just be careful, okay?” Letting Carolina sit herself on the edge of the bed, Connie sat beside her. “We’re doing this for you, more than anything. Sure, we have our personal vendettas against the Director but… you need to be there to see this through. Can’t do that if you’ve had a heart attack.” There was a heavy layer of seriousness atop the attempt at teasing, and Carolina smiled.

“Mm. You know, don’t you? Who I am.”

They both knew the answer to that. Still, Connie hesitated and let her nails catch at that scar on her palm as she considered her words.

“Yeah. Yeah I do. Charlotte Church, daughter of Dr. Leonard Church and Allison Church.” She sighed, kept picking at that scar until Carolina pressed the string of beads into her hand. Staring at Carolina’s hand until it retreated, she took a moment to start rolling them back and forth. “I’m sorry. I used to check the files of people I knew I was going to work with, just skimmed them, just enough to know what I was walking into. I know it’s an invasion of privacy, but—eventually, with the research I did… making the connection was unavoidable.”

“It’s alright. After I saw the extent of the intel you’d gathered, I figured you would.” With a little laugh, Carolina pressed a hand against her face and ran it back into her hair. “It’s almost a relief, _someone_ knowing. Understanding why this is so… personal, for me.”

“It still feels— _invasive_ , knowing so much. If it wasn’t tied so intrinsically to what the Director was doing, I would never have… you know.” The beads rolled back and forth over her palm. Soothing. “At first I stayed out of it, left it be, but when I finally got through the encryption surrounding Tex’s files, found out how she’d been created…”

“It’s _alright_ ,” Carolina repeated. “I understand.” Kicking off her boots, she flopped back onto the mattress and rolled onto her side. Her body felt heavy, her energy drained. “I know you won’t tell anyone; you’ve proved yourself a damn good secret keeper, Connie.”

“Guess I have.” She laughed quietly, shook her head. “Even though that meant lying to all of you.”

“You didn’t know who you could trust; I didn’t either, towards the end. That was what they wanted, wasn’t it?”

When Connie looked at Carolina, really looked at her, there was something in her expression she couldn’t quite place and a trusting openness in the way she lay. Connie recognised it in herself, as much as she saw it in Carolina; she hadn’t tensed when Carolina grasped her hand to slip the beads into her grip.

“…yeah. It was,” she said, squeezing the beads and feeling their curves and edges press into her skin. “Never did wrap my head around that, trying to split a team apart at the seams… it never made sense to me.”

“None of it makes _sense_ , Connie. It never did.” Carolina’s fingers traced over the faint patterns on the sheets, nearest to her body. “We were meant to help test experimental technology that could have helped end the war. Instead, the Director got wrapped up in a fantasy. You know, I thought the Project was a sign of him moving on? I thought that maybe, finally, he’d channel his grief into something and start _healing_. Maybe even recognise my achievements—selfish as that sounds. Until…”

“Yeah. Until.”

There was a moment’s silence before Carolina chuckled, rubbed her face. “I forgot how loose-tongued these crashes made me.”

“Don’t worry, like you said, I’m good at keeping secrets,” Connie said with a smile, which Carolina matched. “You can talk to me about things like that if you need to, Charlotte; Tasha and I worked through a lot of our issues that way.”

“Maybe one day,” Carolina said. “After this is said and done. We’ll see how I feel then.”

Connie nodded, she understood that. “The offer will always be open.”

They sat in silence, for a moment. Carolina’s eyes slid shut and Connie watched her, half-consciously, as she lay peacefully breathing in and out, in and out. When she caught herself she tore her eyes away, stood from the bed to grab her PC. One of Carolina’s eyes opened.

“Do you mind if I work sat here?” Connie asked. “Outside is rather loud, with everyone training.”

“Not at all. It’s your bed,” Carolina said, moving over to give Connie more room. It was slow and sluggish, but she managed. “Any new developments?”

“No.” Connie sighed, sat back down and loaded up her work. “You’d be the first to know if I’d found anything. We’re at a dead end. We have a list of potential locations but we have no guarantee they all exist, let alone that the Director’s at one of them.”

“Right. And we have no way to narrow it down further?”

“Not right now. I’m doing my best with what I have access to, but we’re lightyears away from these locations and my connections can only get me so far.” There was something else she’d been thinking about ever since Carolina had told her story, another possible lead. The only problem was… “I have— something we could try, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

Carolina opened her other eye. “Mm, now would be the time to ask.”

“I think— I think we need Texas.”

There was a beat, a moment where Connie didn’t know if Carolina was upset by the suggestion or not and then—

There was a sigh.

“You’re probably right. As much as I hate to admit it,” Carolina said, covering her face and muffling her words. Her teeth tugged at her lip. “If anyone could track that man down, it’d be Agent _goddamn_ Texas and we need all the help we can get.”

“It’s not a simple solution, I don’t even know how to begin going about finding her and—”

“She left a radio frequency, in a basic text document on the drive. I never used it, obviously, but it said it was so I could contact her.”

“Oh.” Connie paused, considering the information for a moment before she started to look for it on the drive. It didn’t take long to find it. “Well, this certainly solves that issue. I don’t know the range of the radio it’s for but we can boost the signal with one of our transmitters and— well, I could call her within the next hour.”

“Theoretically, but I think I need a little longer than an hour to recover.” A wide-eyed Connie was met by a raised brow and a small smile. “Yes, I’m saying I’ll talk to her. Hold me to it, would you? Even when I’m not so out of it.”

“Are you—?”

“I’m sure. The whole reason I’m doing is this to start moving forward and to do that, I need to face her at some point. Now’s as good a time to start as any, I suppose,” she said, breathing a long sigh. “Do your thing and I should be recovered by this evening. I’m trusting you to hold me to my word, okay?”

She was smiling properly, now; Connie couldn’t help but smile back. “Okay, Charlotte. I’ll hold you to it.”

That evening, Carolina was up and about again, eating enough for two people to replace all of the energy she’d used. Over MREs, she and Connie informed the others about the decision to contact Texas; everyone agreed that it was worth a try, they needed all the help they could get.

So, after dinner, they called the frequency.

And Tex picked up.

“ _Carolina?_ ”

Shoulders pulled tight, Carolina spoke with a forced evenness. “Texas.”

“ _Huh, you know, I was sure you’d never call,_ ” Texas said. There was no hint to her location in the background noise, from what Carolina could hear she may as well have been in a vacuum. “ _Nice to hear you’re still kickin’ though, kid. Been nearly a long-ass time— what’s changed?_ ”

“We need your help,” Carolina said. No one else was in the cockpit where she sat with Connie, but her eyes flicked to the doorway back into the bay.

“ _We?_ ”

“The team. We’re together again, how is a long story that can be explained later. The important thing is that we’re together and we need your help to find the Director.”

“ _Well what do you know, guess a lot_ has _changed. Yeah, I can help with that. Just give me some time to finish what I’m working on, then I’ll find you, no need to come looking for me_.”

Scepticism leaked into Carolina’s voice. “That simple?”

“ _Hey, I got nothing against any of you guys; don’t know you very well, sure, but I have no shit with you. Besides, if it weren’t for Connie? Wouldn’t even know what I do. So yeah, that simple,_ ” Tex said. “ _Look, you don’t have to believe me; either way, I’ll be there when I’m ready._ ”

“Suppose we’ll see you then.”

“ _You will._ ” And she disconnected.

Relative silence fell over the cockpit. The radio crackling slightly until Connie reached over and turned it off, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth for a moment.

“Guess all we can do is wait,” she said. There was no response, so she simply continued. “Sounds like she was working towards something similar.”

“Of course she was.” Carolina stood up. “Texas. Always one step ahead.”

Watching her leave, Connie sighed but didn’t move to stop her. Carolina needed time just as much as any of them, perhaps even more so. If Carolina wanted to talk about it, she’d come to her. If she came to her, she’d try and help.

For now, all she could do was give her time.

 

It was a few days later that Tex arrived.

Connie had undertaken the trek into the nearest town—a day trip when going there and back on foot—to do some work she didn’t want to risk connecting back to their location. Certain things she could do without attracting unwanted attention, but too much network activity from a seemingly empty spot out in the middle of the colony’s undeveloped forest would be suspicious. At this point, taking chances just wasn’t an option.

So, much like she had many times in the past, she set herself up in a public café and got to work. Various other patrons sat around on their PCs and other devices, enough innocuous activity to mask her own. Planning to make the most of the day, she followed a check-list of things she needed to work on; another sweep of the UNSC database on the Project being her first task. When, inevitably, nothing there had changed since she last looked she moved onto more specialised searches and encrypted communications with the network.

Whistler and Castor were always curious about their progress, but their living situation had made it difficult to regularly contact them. Video chat was out of the question, but within the first few hours she was there they managed to exchange a few messages and catch each other up on what had been happening. Parts of the network had offered help; whilst they could do very little now the search was so firmly outside of the system, she appreciated the gesture.

She was half way through writing another response, a program working away in the background scanning some UNSC files she definitely shouldn’t have, when a shadow loomed over her and a drive was placed on the table in front of her.

Following the arm up to the body it accompanied, she was greeted by a woman dressed in all black—leather jacket; well-worn jeans; combat boots; the works. Her hair was blonde and messy, her face oddly perfect and yet looking every bit as tired as Connie felt.

Had she ever seen Texas out of armour before?

“Hey,” Texas said, dropping into the seat across from her. “Been a while, my friend Connie.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Connie almost laughed, “I’d almost forgotten that was part of the message I left… bit trite, really, I guess. Cheesy, maybe.”

“Just a little,” Texas teased, half-smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Got your point across. You were someone to go to. Shame I didn’t take you up on it.”

Connie shrugged. “Didn’t really get chance, in the end. I’m just glad you believed me.” Picking up the drive, she held it up between two fingers. “So this is—?”

“Updated map of the Director’s bunkers. Confirmed locations. See, before he actually brought me in he had to test me. See if I was as good as he wanted me to be. So, he had me run simulations at a few _select_ locations,” Tex said, kicking her legs up onto the spare chair to the side of the table. “Figured it was fair to assume those old locations also had the kind of equipment he’d need to continue his work with Alpha, since, y’know.” She made a sweeping gesture down her body, smiled dryly.

“You think he’s still fragmenting Alpha?” Inserting the drive, she waited for it to download.

“Wouldn’t bet against it. He took him. If nothing else, he needs to be able to store him, so— still our best bet.”

“Fair point.”

Download complete, she began a cursory scan through the list that Tex had compiled. Each location came with a variety of related files—blueprints, records, and so on. It was extensive, rivalling most of what they had so far. Texas had certainly been dedicated.

“This is very useful, Tex. Thank you.” Cross-referencing it with their own list was a job that could be done back at the ship. For now, she closed the PC and focused on the woman across from her.

“It’s Beth, now, actually,” Texas said, with a slight cough. “Fresh start, all that. But uh— no problem, like I said to Carolina, we’re on the same side here. Happy to help out.”

“Beth, okay.” Connie nodded, smiled. “You sticking around then?”

“You fucking bet your ass I am. I wanna see the Director’s head on a stick by the end of this. Y’know, metaphorically. Or not.” A wry grin, arms folded over her chest. “I’ll be satisfied with either.”

“Well, that’s the plan,” Connie said. Tap, tap, tap, her fingers rapped against the table. “I can tell you everyone’s stories on the way back to the ship, it’s… a long walk. But— how’ve you held up, the past couple years?”

Tex looked thrown. “Fuck, it’s been two years?”

“Yeah, almost two and a half.”

“Well, shit.” She dragged a hand down her face. “Eh, I’ve been fine. Always was a bit of a lone wolf, I guess.” At least, she’d been used to being like that; not like the Project had ever given her another choice. “Had to learn how to maintenance my own damn body, but otherwise it was smooth sailing. Lot of work, lot of fights, lot of shit. Kept me occupied. Feel like it should be me asking you that, really.”

“We’re all holding up pretty well, actually. Details I’ll give you on the way, like I said, but… well, everyone’s doing better for having found out everyone’s okay, that’s for sure,” Connie said. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she sighed. “Charlotte is… not too happy that we’ve had to call on you, as I’m sure you could tell, but she says she’s working on it and I trust that.”

“Yeah, no surprise there. Can’t blame the kid, really. All things considered,” Tex said, shrugging. “Feel weird enough about this shit myself, can’t imagine what it’s like for her.”

“Yeah. Can’t imagine.” She slipped the PC back into her bag, finished off the last of her latest drink. “May as well head back, no point wasting more time now you’re here. I imagine that list will be enough to get us down to one or two potential locations.”

“Hopefully,” Tex said. “Might wanna give me that run-down here, though. Before we leave. I got a ride outside, it’ll get us out to where you’re set up way quicker than walking.”

Tex’s head jerked back towards the doors and the black motorcycle that sat outside.

“ _Oh._ ” Laughing softly, Connie nodded. “Yeah I wouldn’t be able to explain on the back of that so— here we go, I guess.”

After telling it so many times, the story was well rehearsed and slipped off her tongue with few stumbles or pauses. Tex listened quietly, nodding along and making all the appropriate noises of acknowledgement or reaction in a manner almost as rehearsed as the story itself.

Social interaction didn’t get easier when you’d spent two years alone.

They were on their way within another half hour, Connie clinging onto Texas on the back of the motorcycle as it sped through the city and the forest. Rather than spending hours walking, they were back to the ship within an hour—albeit with a rather windswept Connie.

The engine stopped. All eyes fell on them.

Tex kicked down the side stand and swung herself off the bike, taking the helmet from Connie and helping her get down. Mostly ignoring the attention that remained firmly on her she checked that she was okay and dumped the helmet on the seat, grabbed the duffel bag from the back.

“You know, maybe you guys should take a picture,” she said, finally, as she threw it over her shoulder and raised a brow at everyone, “it’d last longer.”

York, eloquent and tactful as ever, spoke first. “You uh— you have a face.”

“Yes, York, I have a face,” Tex said, rolling her eyes. “What did you expect? Just a suit of armour? Take off my helmet and it’s another helmet?”

“Truthfully? Yeah. I kinda did,” he said, still staring. Only North clapping him over the shoulder broke him from his trance, with an awkward cough and an equally awkward grin. “Sorry.”

“You’re just as much a disaster as I remember,” Tex said, amused.

York groaned. “Oh come on. You barely spent any time with us! Is it _that_ obvious?”

“Yes,” said everyone, in unison. His shoulders slumped comically.

“Anyway. Won’t have to worry about me taking up floor-space at night, I can sit up in the cockpit whilst everyone sleeps. Don’t really do the whole sleeping thing,” Tex said, hopping up onto the ramp and dumping her duffel. “Won’t eat up any of your supplies either.”

Connie wandered over to South, stretched up to her tiptoes and met her half-way for a kiss. Dressed for a sparring match she hadn’t had chance to start, South raised a brow at her and nodded her head back at Tex.

“She found me at the café I was in,” Connie said, squeezing her arms. “Like she said she would, she found us.” 

“Did she bring what we need?”

Turning, Connie saw Carolina tightening the wraps around her hands and stepping away from Maine, who she’d been sparring with. She’d already started chewing at her lip; there was blood where she often split it.

“Yeah, she did. A list of confirmed compounds that would have the facilities he needs for AI,” Connie said. “Just need to compare it to our list, see what matches up.”

“Okay.” Carolina nodded. Teeth tugged at her lip. “Guess we better do that then.”

They sat up in the back of the Pelican, leaving York and Wash sparring, Maine watching and North running module drills with Theta. Connie and South sat between Texas and Carolina, the twins hovering over the latter’s shoulder calmly. Whatever it was that had caused their adverse reaction to Tex’s presence had, mercifully, passed.

Comparing the two lists, there were only two that appeared on each. Two off-site storage and training facilities on the same planet, a planet which was home to a notable amount of simulation bases. Outpost 25 – Rat’s Nest; Outpost 48 – High Ground; Outpost 17 – Valhalla; and multiple others. Tex recalled running ‘simulations’ at some of them, too; apparently, most of their original teams had to be replaced after she was done.

She fell into silence with an awkward chuckle, after telling them that.

“So that narrows it down perfectly. We’ll probably be in slipspace for around a day or two, but— we only have one planet to check. That’s much better than I expected,” Connie said, legs bouncing slightly. She smiled at Carolina, who, though tense, looked relieved. “This is it, Charlotte. I think we have him.”

“No one knew about these compounds. He’s not gonna know what’s hit him,” Tex said, leaning back and grinning. “We have him, kid.”

Though her gaze flicked uncomfortably towards Tex, Carolina’s shoulders dropped. Relaxed. “Yeah. We have him.”

“I’ll call the others in and explain. No point moving today, we may as well rest up here a little longer and move out when we’re sure we’re ready,” Connie said. “I kinda doubt we’ll encounter much opposition when we get there, but I’d rather we were safe than sorry.”

“Whatever he has won’t be enough to stand up to Charlotte, Mateja or me, let alone all of us. We’ll be fine,” Tex said dismissively, leaning forward over her knees.

Carolina tensed back up.

“ _Don’t_ call me that. You don’t get to call me that. Not you.” Not in that voice and not with that face, both so eerily familiar and yet somehow more… perfect. Idealised. “Not you.”

Tex’s face softened, even as she held her hands up defensively. “Okay. Sorry, guess that would be weird. Carolina it is then.”

There was a huff and Carolina opened her mouth to say something else, sharp words on the tip of her tongue and—

A hand settled on her arm.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s go spar,” South said, squeezing.

After staring at the hand for a long moment, Carolina followed her.

She re-tied her hair in a fresh braid whilst South wrapped her hands, watching her a little more closely than she usually did. South was strong and it showed, her power more evenly spread throughout her body than Carolina’s; she was firm muscle and scars and force, but there was a certain warmth in her face. Gone was the anger that had almost permanently twisted her features back in the Project, now she looked… different; Carolina couldn’t put a word to it. She supposed she might look different like that, too, if she had a little more time.

South brushed her hair from her face and Carolina’s gaze followed that a little more closely, too.

“Okay, I’d say don’t punch me for this _but_ we’re still gonna fucking spar so that doesn’t really work? So just, y’know, don’t break me,” she said, getting into stance. Carolina raised a brow, matching her. “Look, I— fuck, this shit’s hard, but— look, I kinda know how you’re feeling. With the whole Tex— _Beth_ , bullshit.”

“Oh you _do_ , do you?” She made the first move, a spinning kick aimed for South’s head that she ducked. Landed, followed up with another that South threw back at her. A punch came for her gut and she spun out of the way. “How, Natasha? What do _you_ know about how _I’m_ feeling?”

“Right, yeah, what would _I_ know about feeling like I’m constantly being fucking overshadowed,” a lunge, “being expected to live up to some impossible fucking standard,” a momentum-weighted punch, “feeling like everyone wants you to be someone else and not yourself?” A block. Stare set on Carolina. “Yeah, you’re right, what would _I_ know about _that_.”

Faltering, Carolina fell back into stance. “I— right. You and— sorry.”

South didn’t know the full story, she couldn’t, but— she wasn’t _wrong_ ; out of everyone here, she understood the way she was feeling better than anyone.

“Look, I get it, I can’t know exactly what you’re feeling but _fuck_ , Charlotte, I can kinda fucking empathise!” Not letting the fight stall, South lunged again, feinted and followed it up with a kick back. “It’s fucking _hard_. Being treated like that my whole fucking life gave me some heavy-ass issues—” Carolina kicked out, one, two three, “—that I’m gonna be living with for-fucking- _ever_. And hey, I don’t know your life story, but— if you got your own bundle of fucking issues from shit like this? It’s not— it’s fucking understandable, y’know?”

“I know. It’s— I’ve been living with this for a while. It’s not new.”

“But have you ever fucking _talked_ about it before?”

“I—” she barely made an easy block, “—no. Not really.”

“Then fucking talk now, babe. Talk to me.”

Everyone else inside the ship, the sparring match was allowed to run on in private. There was no real sense of either of them trying to _win_ , their moves were predictable and easy to counter, but the rhythm of it felt more natural than the rhythm of conversation ever did alone. Carolina appreciated it, it almost made talking about this a little easier.

Kick, two, three. “I never was— my achievements, my successes, they were— they were never acknowledged. I was always an ambitious kid, ever since I was tiny. My mother used to joke that even as a toddler, I was determined to learn to walk before any of the other kids.” A small laugh escaped her. She dodged and blocked a chain of punches. “But— but one day, all acknowledgement of what I did just… stopped. Just like that.” Kick, two three. “I kept trying, kept succeeding, but— for years, nothing. When he finally gave me recognition— it was only ever when it would get him what he wanted.”

“Your uh, your dad?” Duck, punch, chain. Carolina nodded and South chuckled dryly. “We should start an asshole dad’s club. Nik can join, three people makes a club right?”

“I think so.” Kick, two, three, kick, two, three— “Talking about this is— difficult. I don’t usually do this.”

“Yeah, I didn’t fucking used to either.”

Carolina gave a half-smile. “When did you become such a good listener, Natasha?”

“Heh, turns out that getting some distance from all the shit that’s causing you damage and having someone who _really_ listens to you? Gives a shit about you?” A weight hung on her words. “It really _fucking_ helps. Connie— fuck, she’s helped my ass _so much_.” Block, punch, knee. “She fucking listens to me. We listen to each other. It’s— it’s fucking cheesy as shit but power of fucking love, man. Power of someone giving a shit.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. So she fell back on the familiar rhythm of the spar.

“And like, y’know what Charlotte? We had our fucking differences, we really, really did, but— you deserve someone who gives a fucking shit about you too. Guess what? I’m being that fucking person.”

The next kick landed Carolina flat on her ass, wind knocked out of her as she failed to block. South cursed, dropped down to a crouch to check on her.

“Shit, you okay? Man I thought that’d be easy to block, didn’t expect to throw you on your ass—”

“I’m fine,” Carolina said, shaking her head. A laugh bubbled in her chest, quiet, shocked, but… genuine. “You— you really got me there, Natasha.”

“Heh. Apparently.” Standing back up, she offered her a hand. “C’mon, get your ass back— whoa!”

As she landed hard on her front, she realised she should have saw that coming and _laughed_ , bright and loud and slipping into a snort or two. Carolina’s laughter joined her, louder now.

She should have been able to block that kick, South was right. But—

‘I’m being that fucking person’.

Despite herself, Carolina smiled.

 

Nights in the Pelican weren’t quiet, anymore.

For two years the bay had been utterly silent outside of their own breathing and the dull thrum of the engines. Now, it was filled with sound; a cacophony of breathing, shifting sheets, muffled mumbling, quiet and not so quiet snoring. Comforting, in a way; ambient noise that served as a constant reminder that they were surrounded by friends. That their friends were safe.

Connie stepped carefully over a sleeping York’s outstretched arm, ducked through the closed curtains around the bed and clambered up onto the mattress from the foot—avoided stepping over Carolina, who slept lightly at her side of the bed. A miniature obstacle course, now a nightly occurrence.

South beckoned her up with open arms, tucked her against her chest and kissed the top of her head. Connie exhaled quietly, pressed her face into the curve of her neck.

“Beth sure she’s comfortable up there?” South asked, voice hushed. She ran her fingers through the long side of Connie’s hair, felt her melt under the touch.

“Mmhm. Says she’ll work on some stuff. Apparently if she ‘sleeps’ she just… turns off? For a few hours? And she doesn’t really like it. Can’t say that’s not understandable,” Connie said, whispering too. “Everyone else is sleeping fine as always. Seo-Jun is curled up in a ball on Mateja’s chest, it’s rather cute.”

“Fucking dork.”

Laughing softly, Connie settled comfortably into her place on South’s lap. “Lot’s changed in the past couple months, huh?”

“Putting it fucking lightly, yeah. _Fuck_. I thought our lives were chaotic enough when we were just doing merc shit and running from the UNSC, now fucking look at us! Preparing to go kill the fucking Director. Like— what the fuck.” Her hand, as it often did, slipped under Connie’s shirt and ran cold fingers across the scar on Connie’s stomach. South grinned at the way she tensed her belly away from the cold touch. “Didn’t think this was how the start of year three was gonna go, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Mm. Me either. But I can’t say that I’m unhappy with how it’s gone.”

“Yeah, same.”

There was a long pause, a stretch of comfortable silence.

“I am kinda fucking nervous though. About the Director thing. I mean, fuck— sure, we got the squad and everything and it’s not like that asshole can defend _himself_ but something about this whole thing’s got me on fucking edge, y’know?” South said.

“I know what you mean. Something about this— I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s kinda scaring me too. But— I think we’ll be fine.” She kissed South’s cheek. “We have the advantage.”

“Yeah, no kidding. We got numbers, we got training, we got two motherfucking tanks on our team—” (“I’m not sure Beth counts as a tank.”) “—and we got units with AI to run them. Heh. Poetic bullshit, that. Give us this shit and now it’s gonna bite him in the ass.”

“Exactly. We’ll be fine. And after this— well, who knows.” Connie shrugged. Ran the pads of her fingers back and forth across the material of South’s shirt. “We have our work to return to, the others… I think Mateja and Seo-Jun just want to find somewhere to settle, keep recovering. Wouldn’t be surprised if James and Nik wanted the same.”

“Eh, not sure Nik’ll settle down so easy. I’d put money on him and his dumbass boyfriend travelling around or some shit first. Only one I’d say is even less likely to settle so fucking quick is Charlotte.”

“Fair enough.” Pause. “What did you and Charlotte talk about, earlier? When you lead her away?”

South made a ‘pfft’ sound. “Oh, y’know, childhood trauma that became adulthood trauma. All that fun shit. Let her know she’s not as alone as she thinks she is, that people fucking care. Think I maybe got through to her a bit.”

“ _Natasha_ ,” Connie gasped, hand on her chest in teasing awe, “when did you get so good at _feelings_?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” South snorted, pushed Connie’s face into her shoulder as she giggled. “You know exactly how I got better at feelings crap. Don’t be a little shit.”

“I know. We were almost as bad as each other, at first.” Smiling, she pressed her face back into her neck. “But, really, you did good. You two seem to get on pretty damn well.”

“Mm, she isn’t so fucking bad outside of all the bullshit from the Project. She’s even kinda been putting in the effort, so— figured I would too.” A shrug. “Besides she’s kinda become a fixture around the ship now, she’s been with us a couple months.”

“True. It’s going to be strange if she leaves,” Connie said. South twisted her head so she could raise a brow at her, smirking. “What?”

“You said _if_.” A grin spread across her face. “Heh, someone’s attached.”

Huffing, Connie playfully shoved her. “Says you! I keep walking in on you play fighting!”

“Hey, I didn’t fucking deny shit.” Shoving back, she grinned wider. “Sounds like we have a fucking talk on our hands, huh?”

“I— after this is over, okay? We have a lot of talks about the future to come but— let’s wait ‘til we know we’re coming out of this alive,” Connie said, slumped against her. Scrunched her face up, when South tickled her nose with a piece of her own hair. “I know we almost certainly will, but— still.”

“Yeah, yeah, I getcha.” Tickle, tickle; she didn’t stop until Connie playfully batted at her hand. “Not long now babe.”

“Yeah, not long now.” She sighed, then yawned. “Mm, sleep time. Come on. I’m big spooning.”

“Fuck yeah.”

 

Five days later—days filled with training, talking and prepping—they set the course for the planet full of simulation bases and jumped. Thankfully the jump spanned only a few days slipspace time, limiting how long they were stuck together in the back of a Pelican without anywhere to escape to. By the time they arrived they were grateful to land, spread out and get some fresh air, some space.

Texas made a dry jab about how at least they all got to sleep to get away from everyone for a while, whilst playfully kicking York in the hip. That cut his complaining off pretty quickly, at least.

After a brief respite, they oriented themselves. It was a small planet, not populated. There were simulation bases in every cardinal direction, as abandoned as those back in the Luminous-VI system. Some of the first outposts—one through five, specifically—had been built here and it was a favourite to return to later, thanks to its isolation and easy access. Unlike in Luminous-VI, however, the compounds weren’t adjacent to specific bases; instead, they were positioned at regular points between them.

The two facilities they needed were at two such points either side of Outpost 17. They could hit both within a couple of hours.

They were going to find the Director.

Today.


	25. Get it Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last but one chapter of the main plot! Two more chapters left total, so close to being done. It’s a bit surreal.

Location one was a bust.

Upon arriving they were greeted by an open facility, one that hadn’t gone into lockdown when so many of the others had. After a quick investigation it was easy to see why: it had been abandoned at some point, all of the things once stored there removed to another location and everything left running on low-power mode.

The Director wasn’t there, but whatever he’d stored here had likely been moved to where he _was_ hiding. At least, that was what Connie deduced from the fact it seemed to have been taken in a hurry. If anything it made them more certain that they’d find him at the other facility or, if not there, then at least somewhere on this planet.

Throughout their time at the facility, Carolina was coiled tight. They were so _close_ , the anticipation and the nerves crawling under her skin growing more uncomfortable with every passing minute. She lead the group through the building, team leader voice firmly in place and working as well as ever; her orders made sense and people followed them, sweeping the facility.

Tex stayed quiet, did as the others did. It was a clear, deliberate effort not to upset her and Carolina saw it. Whilst it didn’t relax her any, she couldn’t say that she didn’t appreciate it.

When the search turned up nothing, she’d only grown tenser. As she stood waiting in the empty central room, her AI buzzed around her, tried to calm her. However it was only when, upon returning from one of the adjoining rooms, South hovered a hand over her arm, waited for permission and then gently squeezed, that she started to calm down. Just a little.

One short flight later and they arrived at the other old off-site storage facility.

It was locked down, as they expected. Trying to gain permission through F.I.L.S.S failed just as it had for Carolina at the first facility she tried to enter and getting around her manually would no doubt involve another holographic lock, also as expected.

“Eta, Iota,” Carolina said. Both twins nodded, jumping from her shoulder into the computer system. They were small enough to slip through the cracks, mostly avoiding detection from F.I.L.S.S and reappearing after only a few seconds. “Is he—?”

Eta nodded, whilst Iota spoke up. “ _Yep, there’s someone living here. F.I.L.S.S’s records say he checked in a couple years ago, a few other people have checked in and out but looks like they don’t come back more than a couple times each. Besides one: Price._ ”

Maine growled. Wash squeezed their hand.

Carolina’s nod was slow, mechanical. Her gaze was fixed on the panel in front of her, the wall that held the concealed entrance to the facility looming in her periphery.

He was _there_ , behind that wall.

They’d found him.

“Good job, Eta, Iota,” Tex said, only after Carolina had been silent for a long minute. “Carolina? What now?”

Finally, Carolina looked away. “ _Now,_ we go over the plan again and gear up. Back in the ship.”

“Alright, you heard her. Move your asses.”

Everyone went back to the ship—everyone, that is, except for Connie. Whilst the others turned and walked away, even Carolina, she hesitated. Staring at that same wall that had hung in the corner of Carolina’s eye, at the compound that was concealed beneath an old, dilapidated building. Finding the entrance hadn’t been easy, hidden deep within an abandoned town that had long since begun the process of being reclaimed by nature. There were mazes of broken tunnels through hillside all around it. The Director had hidden himself well.

But they’d found him.

This was Carolina’s hunt, _Carolina’s_ closure; Connie knew that. However after everything, all the work she’d put into exposing him only for Charon to send it all crumbling down around her—

“You can’t hide from us, Director. Not from Carolina, not from me, certainly not from both of us together,” she said quietly to herself. After all that time, feeling hopeless because her work had put her friends at risk and yet still hadn’t led to his capture, there she was.

He wouldn’t escape this time.

One way or another.

“Hey.” Fingers laced with hers, tucked her hand into their owner’s grasp. “You good, babe?”

South stood at her side, head slightly tilted and concern creasing her features. A little ways behind her, there was Carolina—waiting.

Connie smiled, at them both. “Yeah. I’m— I’m good. Come on.”

Blueprints projected onto the surface in front of them, the team gathered around with Carolina at the head of the makeshift debriefing table, flanked by South and Connie. Everyone had suited up as far as their codpieces and stood ready to listen. From where Carolina stood, it was familiar yet different; it was more relaxed, more personal. Faces were on open display; Wash leaned casually against Maine’s side; York was fully folded at the waist to lean on the table with his elbows, ass out. None of the rigidity of the Project.

She’d found comfort in the formality, before. Now, she found a little in the lack of it.

“In front of you are the blueprints for this particularly facility, supplied by Beth.” She nodded at the projection. “As you can see, it’s a basic enough layout mostly made up of storage halls and a training area. All except that zone at the rear.”

“The blueprint claims it’s a void,” Tex said, glancing at Carolina out of the corner of her eye. When she didn’t object to her speaking, she continued, “But I know better. Got vague memories of being back there, a few times. It’s where he keeps the shit that he used to work on me and other AI when needed. He’ll be holed up back there, doing whatever the fuck he’s been doing the past couple years.”

“It also lines up with the facility I investigated back in Luminous-VI, he had an area at the back that was set up to support occupation,” Carolina added. Resting a hand on her hip, she sighed. “Unfortunately we have no idea what kind of modifications he may have made to the facility over the past two years. This blueprint is from its construction, right?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“There was no sign of defensive measures at the facility I saw, however the UNSC had already cleared it out and obviously he was never there. Once he selected this facility, he would have had time to put in defensive measures.”

South held an arm up, slightly, as if asking for permission. When Carolina nodded, she slung it over her shoulders and leaned against her. “Basically, assholes, we gotta be ready for all of the bullshit this fucknut coulda come up with. Poor grunts stuck guarding doors… fucking automated turrets… a fucking bomb that’ll take the whole place down even with him inside—literally, fucking anything. Wouldn’t even be surprised by a nuke.”

Tex snorted. Carolina rolled her eyes. North dropped his head into his hand with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, that’s _super_ likely, Natasha,” Wash said, earning himself a flip of the bird. He retaliated in kind.

“Point stands, rookie—” (“I’m not even the rookie!”) “—he coulda installed anything, dude’s proved himself desperate enough to use extreme measures in the past. Y’know, like using the big stick to blow up a _building_ , in a _civilian city_.”

“…fair point.”

Carolina shook her head. “Once we disable F.I.L.S.S, James will get us past the holographic lock and we’ll move into the facility. Inside, we’ll split up into two teams and clear each room before reconvening back in the central chamber. Then, together, we’ll move into the rear.”

“I’ve been running some training programs for holo locks,” York said, holding up a hand. “ _Way_ more adjusted to my depth perception issues now. I can get us in.”

“ _I can confirm, James’ success rate with holographic locks has raised exponentially since his time in the Project._ ”

“The two teams will be me, Tasha, Charlotte and Nik, then obviously Beth, Seo-Jun, Mateja and James,” Connie said. “James and I will be there to disable anything that requires our skills. Everyone else— just do your thing.”

“Remember to be prepared for anything. This could be easy or it could be anything but,” Carolina said, South’s arm still draped over her shoulders. “Have each other’s backs and keep on the radios. There’s no leaderboard here, there’s no competition. We do this as a team or not at all; if anyone gets seriously injured… we pull out. This isn’t worth our lives.”

With a soft grunt, Maine signed. <Got it, boss.>

“So no unnecessary risks, huh? That mean we’re not going to be improvising this time, boss?” Wash said with a lopsided smile that grew into a grin, when she raised a brow at him.

“No promises,” she retorted, chuckling quietly. Wash gave a mock groan. “Alright everyone, let’s finish suiting up and get moving.”

Upper body armour and helmets clicked into place. Signature weapons magnetised onto backs and thighs. System checks ran in the background, made sure armour and units alike were working at full capacity. Carolina ran through the basics of the plan once more.

As she talked, she watched South and Connie behind the cover of her helmet. There was a part of her that told her that, no matter what, she’d always have found her way here—to the Director; another part of her knew that without the two of them, it could have taken years.

It was thanks to them she was here. That any of this had happened. Maybe things had been rough, hadn’t gone as they should have, but they were here now.

She made a note to really thank them later, when this was all over.

Eta and Iota disabled F.I.L.S.S so that they could bypass her manually and, as soon as her screen went dark, the holographic lock appeared on the bare wall across from her.

York cracked his knuckles, arms stretched in front of him. “Alright, I also do a lot better at this when you assholes let me ramble and don’t distract me. I hear one joke, _one_ , and I walk—I mean it.”

“ _James_.”

“On it, on it.”

His hands moved through the holographic components with practiced ease and relative confidence as he rambled about this and that, anything to keep his brain sufficiently occupied. The more he talked the quicker his hands seemed to work until, without a single alarm being triggered, the lock dissolved and the door opened.

They were greeted by an empty hallway and silence.

Frowning, York grabbed a stone and tossed it through the open doorway. Nothing.

He stood up and shrugged. Without hesitation he stepped across the boundary, into the facility as North raised a hand and said his name—

Still nothing.

“All clear,” he said, turning on the spot and raising his arms. “See? Nothing. At least, nothing motion activated.”

Carolina scowled, pushed past him to move inside. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“ _James is correct. I can detect no active motion sensors in this area, nothing that would so much as trigger a camera. In fact, I do not believe that any of the cameras in this hallway are active at all_ ,” Delta said, flashing into life over York’s shoulder.

“ _That is_ really weird _though, F.I.L.S.S should have alerted the Director that there were intruders the second that we deactivated her outside terminal!_ ” Iota said, flailing her arms. “ _You think he’d at least be_ watching _us!_ ”

“Don’t know about you, but that really doesn’t fucking reassure me any,” South said as she joined Carolina inside, pulling her shotgun down from her back. “C’mon, we split off at the end of this hall, right?”

South headed the group as they walked cautiously down the long hallway, Carolina close behind and Maine hanging at the back. Everyone was on high alert, weapons in hand and stepping carefully; whilst the AI kept scanning for any traps, it never hurt to be cautious.

They came out onto an elevated walkway at the edge of the central room, overlooking a maze of metal crates. It was silent, empty. There were no guards, no workers.

And still no defences.

South tightened her grip on her gun. “Yeaaah—I don’t fucking like this.”

“I need to get to a terminal, see what’s going on,” Connie said. With rooms in either direction, there had to be one close by. “I’d have expected us to encounter _something_ by now, at least something that the AI could pick up on. This is… I don’t know, I don’t like it either.”

“It’s unnerving is what it is,” Tex said, arms folded. “Way too quiet. Thought F.I.L.S.S had info saying people had been in and out of here?”

“ _Last— last new entry was a couple of months ago, and— and their exit was the same day_ ,” Eta said. “ _There’s no people. No— no guards, no workers._ ”

His words hung in the suffocating silence, words forgone in favour of glances behind visors and tilts of helmets. No one knew what to make of this, what it meant.

Carolina was the first to break the silence. “We split up as planned. James, Beth, Mateja, Seo-Jun, take the left. We’ll take the right. Is that okay, Connie?”

“I think there’s a room with a terminal that way, so— yeah, fine by me.”

“Alright assholes, c’mon, James you better be as good at disabling traps as you are locks,” Tex said. She’d already started walking towards the left route. “Android bodies are kinda hard to find, don’t particularly wanna lose this one.”

“No one’s losing any body’s body, don’t worry.”

“Come on,” Carolina gestured to the door into the right side, “let’s move.”

Making their way through the rooms on the right of the facility, they were followed by the same eerie silence that had been hanging over them since they entered the compound. Everything was still, undisturbed; a thin layer of dust lay over most of the rooms they walked through, equipment untouched.

A few rooms in, they found the first signs that the Director had continued working with the AI. Racks of digital storage, holding every AI that either hadn’t had chance to be assigned or had never been viable in the first place. Tens of fragments, in various states of stability. Evidence of the process from start to finish, the fragments that fell apart before the acquisition of the Huragok—all in various states of disrepair. Each fragment gradually being spit off more intact, until finally the Huragok came into play and repair became possible.

Eta and Iota shrunk back, away from the low cacophony of voices that only they and Theta could really hear. Weak, broken code reached out towards them, tendrils stretching and searching for help.

They pressed into Carolina’s mind, retreating away.

Carolina shuddered. “Let’s not stay here longer than we have to.”

“Yeah,” North said, hand cupped around a curled up Theta, “let’s keep going.”

After Connie made a few quick checks with the connected computer system, confirming that all the AI she was aware of were there and that there was nothing new, they did just that.

They were close to finishing their circuit by the time they found a terminal that was connected to the compound’s wider network. Room after empty room was behind them, their armoured footsteps still echoing in the dead silence of the facility. With every new room that didn’t contain any defences, nothing so much as an active camera tracking their progress, the more uneasy they felt.

South had started to take the head of the group, unable to shake the anticipation of something _bad_ that built with every passing moment.

“ _Please_ fucking tell me that there’s nothing fucking here so I can stop expecting to get shot by a turret every time I step on a slightly weird looking fucking floor panel,” she said, standing behind Connie. “The longer we go with fucking _nothing_ the more I think we’re gonna step into one room that’s just a fucking death chamber.”

“I _do_ have the bubble shield if that happens.”

“Oh thanks asshole, that’s real reassuring. Relying on your reflexes to live.”

“ _Actually, we’d be relying on mine!_ ”

“From what I can see…” Connie said, a note of amusement in her voice, “there’s no active defences in this part of the building. This doesn’t seem to have information about the void at the back, but— no, there’s nothing. Everything that could be considered a defence is offline.”

“That doesn’t make any _sense_.” Carolina pressed her fingers into her palm, the pressure of her nails against skin dulled completely by the thick kevlar. “He hides himself away inside a secure compound in the middle of _nowhere_ , only to not _defend_ the compound against intruders? No guards, no automated security, _nothing?_ ”

“We don’t know what lies behind the doors to the rear, Charlotte.” Connie stood back from the terminal. “If he’s living in that portion of the compound…” she shrugged, slightly, “I wouldn’t rule anything out right now. The facility is still drawing a lot of power and it’s clearly not supplying anything out here, besides that AI storage.”

South rested a fist against her hip, gun up over her shoulder. “Why the fuck didn’t he move that back with him? You’d think if the dickhead was doing shit with the AI still, he’d take ‘em back there.”

“Going by how Theta reacted? Probably couldn’t keep those things in close proximity to the Alpha,” North said, nodding towards his AI.

“They were stored separately from the Alpha back on the ship, so that’s likely. Isolation keeps them from interfering with the…” her eyes flickered to Theta, Eta and Iota, who all hovered close to their agents, “ _process_.”

After a beat, North said, “I’ll tell the others what you found and to meet us at the arranged point.”

A few minutes later, they were all gathered close to the wall the main hall shared with the rear area. The right side had been as empty as the left, most of the rooms untouched and holding nothing of real interest. As far as they could see, the front of the building had been out of use for a long time.

The wall was blank, featureless metal with no obvious door—but there was a row of machines with glowing energy suspended between two points: experimental teleporters, used at some of the simulation bases.

“You know when the blueprints didn’t show a door, I assumed that it just wasn’t included. Not that there really wasn’t a door at all,” Connie said, staring at the line of teleporters. “This is— unusual? Are they safe?”

“Can’t say I know,” Tex said, shrugging. “Don’t remember how I ever got back there. Always did the shit I was actually fully aware of out here in the training hall. Plus this place is basically unrecognisable, he’s changed it a lot.”

“ _Whilst the technology is experimental, I would hazard to guess that they are safe. There_ is _a level of risk associated with any such technology, however it is negligible for what is likely to be a very simple journey_ ,” Delta said. York shook his head.

“He’s running the actual stats in my head and going by _that_ —I can’t believe I speak Delta now—we’re safe. Literally there’s only like, a 2% chance we disappear into nothing. Rounded up,” he said. When everyone just stared at him, he shrugged. “Hey, sounds like pretty good odds to me. Better odds than most of the shit we’ve faced since the Project started. I should know, I’ve had them fed into my head continuously for the past few years.”

“Totally _disappear_ , though. What the fuck,” South said. York shrugged again. “Fuck it, I’m going in anyway. Don’t know about you assholes, but we’ve come this fucking far and I’m not turning back. I know Charlotte isn’t.”

“No. I’m not.” Carolina’s fingers flexed around the grips of her plasma rifles. She ran through a hundred different things she could say, about how she _had_ to do this, how no matter whether or not she had help she’d see this through to the end, but before she could open her mouth the others spoke up.

“Hey, you heard me, the odds don’t bother me.”

“Yeah, same here. We’re seeing this through, boss,” Wash said, Maine nodding in agreement.

Tex huffed. “I want that asshole dead, no way am I backing off because of a 2% chance. We’re _here_ , even if the rest of you left? I’d be going through, right behind Carolina.”

“Like I said,” Connie rested a hand on Carolina’s arm, “I don’t think I can move forward without seeing this through. We agreed to help, Charlotte; we’re not leaving.”

“Right.” Her team was at her back. “Thank you. Alright, let’s— let’s move, people.”

They stepped through the teleporters.

 

It was dark, on the other side. Blue lights imbedded in the walls cast thick shadows over the floor, the centre of the room a void of darkness—on first glance. Busy checking that everyone made it through the teleporters okay, no one noticed the strange glint there was to the blackness, patches of blue light reflected off polished metal.

Connie was the first one to notice that something was… off, about the room. The hairs on the back of her neck raised, an odd little shiver going down her spine—like she was being watched. Turning away from the group to take a look around, see if there was a camera or something, she startled as her HUD started to compensate for the low light—

—outlining tens upon tens of figures, standing in that patch of shadow.

“Uh— guys?” she said, instinctively grabbing her knives and taking another step forward. “I think we have a problem. James, can you get the lights on—?”

Before she finished asking, the lights started to brighten on their own.

And there, in the centre of the room, were rows upon rows of black armoured figures—of _Texas_. Stood seemingly dormant. Still. Waiting. Watching.

Carolina’s eyes widened. Storming forward, past Connie, she shook her head. “No. _No_ , what the hell is— what has he been—?!”

“What. The. Fuck.” If Tex’s stomach could turn, it would have. Her eyes flicked to every visor, every figure, a split second on every one of them. On every copy, every duplicate, every— _whatever_ they were. “That sick _bastard_ he’s been— shit _. Shit._ They’re— there’s nearly a hundred of the fucking things!”

Connie swallowed a lump in her throat. “He’s had a lot of time. There we no new fragments, back in that storage rack. I wondered what he’d been doing.”

“Well you have your answer,” sharp, but more bark than bite.

Nearly a hundred black suits of armour.

Nearly a hundred attempts.

“All this time, he’s just been— trying _again?_ Why can’t he just— why can’t he just let—” Carolina grabbed at her helmet, fingers curling and dragging against metal as if trying to grab the roots of her hair. “All this _time—_ ” It was one thing too much, tipping her delicately balanced mind just a little too close to meltdown. The silence had been gnawing away at the inside of her skull since they entered. _Too_ quiet, too much anticipation, too much to think about when she was already thinking about so _much_.

“Hey, hey, Charlotte, take a step back, c’mon.” South stepped in front of her, rested her hands over the back of hers. Jumping, Carolina smacked the hands back until she saw who it was. Stopped. Let her guide them down from her head. “Look I have no idea what the fuck kinda dicked up shit is going on here but— look at me. Look at me. He’s fucking close, we’re _close_. Don’t lose your fucking cool now.”

The absurdity of the situation almost made her laugh. _South_ , comforting _her_. Not only comforting her, but doing so _successfully_ because dammit, the scales tipped back in her favour—she was _right_ , he was so _close_. This was just one more messed up thing in a line of messed up things in her life and she was here to put an _end_ to them.

To all of this.

To him.

“This is fucked up. Come on let’s keep fucking moving, I don’t wanna stay in here a second fucking longer,” Tex said. Fists clenched at her sides, she hopped down the small step between them and the robots. “Fucking— shit.”

“Uh, guys?” Wash stepped forward, pulling his rifle from his back. “I think one of them just moved.”

“ _What?_ ” Tex jumped back, grabbed her pistol as she scanned over the scene again. “Which one, rookie?”

“Third on the second row from the back. Lifted its head, look,” he pointed it out with his rifle, one single orange tinted visor tilted a little higher than the rest, “there.”

Its head raise further, slow, mechanical, jerky.

Tex gritted her teeth, her pistol raised. “Fuck _that_.”

A spider-web fracture spread across its visor.

It fell to the floor, destroyed.

And the others _all_ moved.

Mechanical whirring and the heavy clunking of metal against metal filled the air—robotic joints moving and boots against the floor. Their heads twisted, as if cracking their necks; their arms raised, curled fists hitting against their palms.

“…well, _shit_.” At the same time as Tex dropped her arm, she started mentally running through the best way to take as many of the robots out as quickly as possible. Multiple enemies wasn’t hard, she could take twenty easy— except she’d never fought _herself_ before. “Yeah, guys? I think we found his fucking defences.”

South gritted her teeth, grabbed her gun. “And let me fucking guess, every single one of them is going to be as OP as you are, huh?”

“ _Probably_.”

“Fucking _dickshit_.”

The clink of knives, the click of a rifle, the cock of a shotgun, the heavy clunk of explosive rounds loading into a brute shot. Carolina’s fingers flexed around the grips of her plasma rifles and her HUD lit up; aqua and pale yellow icons, highlighting weaknesses.

 _Work with the other AI. Keep an eye on those without AI. Coordinate_ , she thought at them, watching the way the plans immediately changed, adjusted to match whatever they’d taken from the others—

And to follow the bots as they started _charging_.

The first row were mowed down by a stream of gunfire, plasma and bullets peppering holes in chest-plates and visors. Some fell dead still, others lay twitching as the others ran over them without hesitation—heavy crunches, boots crushing splayed limbs—coming for them at full speed. More fell to rifle fire, to plasma melting their chassis, to a sniper round to the face, but others got past it. Ducked and dodged, impossibly fast and reflexive.

The first punch came for Tex herself and she almost _laughed_. Before it could connect she slammed her fist into the side of the bots head, metal _crumpling_.

It fell to the ground in a heap.

But by then they were surrounded by them, some even pulling themselves up from the floor—bullet holes and mangled limbs be damned. Bursts of rifle fire, grunts and groans, sparks and creaking metal—no more easy shots, the fight had come to them.

“ _Fuckballs_ ,” South cursed, pumping a blast of plasma pellets into the chest of one of them. “Connie! Got my back?”

“Always,” Connie’s voice came over the radio, as a small figure pressed against her back. South caught a flash of brown in her periphery, a holo that three bots fell for. Rounded up nice and tight, another pump of plasma taking them all out. “Before you even open your mouth, yes, I know the limit.”

“Heh, you know me well.” A punch, a block, a knee driven into a metal gut— _ouch_ , not her best idea. Armoured foot against its chest-plate, throwing it back; another blast from her shotgun, melting away its helmet and the workings inside. “You know, this is a good—” punch, “—way to—” spinning kick, knocking one back into Connie’s knife, “—work out some—” grunt, “—past frustrations.”

“I can still fucking hear you, y’know,” Tex said, barely a hint of effort in her voice. A glance caught her in the midst of a brawl reminiscent of that first day she’d arrived, three on one and the three losing _miserably_. “Not that I can blame you, not like any of you could ever land a hit back in the Project.”

A distant mocking ‘oooh damn’ came from York. South rolled her eyes, snorted. “Oh, you’re fucking good.”

Robots fell, clips emptied, the group spread throughout the room—surrounded, isolated by pockets of robots. York blasted them back with a traditional shotgun, the knockback sending them flying—only for them to get back up, charge again, force another blast, and another, and another until his ammo ran out.

With a groan and a roll of his shoulders, he tossed the gun and used his fists.

With Theta marking every target, North’s kills were clean and final—a single sniper round through their visors; perfectly timed, perfectly aimed, destroying whatever processors kept them running in one shot. But he could only fire so fast. Four bullets ran out quickly, reloading took time, and before he knew it he was surrounded.

By the time he’d remembered his shield, he’d only trap them in with him.

Ditching his sniper in favour of a pistol, he fought them off for as long as he could until one of them got a hold of him, reared its fist back and—

A hand pushed down on his shoulder and a dark blur flew over his head, boot slamming into the robot’s faceplate and sending it crashing against the ground. One blast of plasma and its head melted.

South stood straight, cocked her head at her brother. “Having trouble, asshole?”

He could almost hear the shit-eating grin on her face. “I had it covered.”

“Sure you fucking did.” Rolling her eyes she shot one robot that was trying to get back up. “C’mon dickhead, let’s put that shield of yours to good fucking use.”

“Right.” Area cleared, he dropped his shield over them. “Theta, you know what to do.”

Speed unit on, Carolina ran rings around the robots—too fast for them to surround, she took them out one by one with bursts of plasma, spinning kicks, punches. Eta and Iota worked with the other AI, kept her HUD updated with everything she needed to know. They highlighted the others, bright coloured outlines in a sea of black—the twins, inside a bubble shield and shooting robots through controlled gaps; York, fighting hand-to-hand but managing; Wash and Maine, surrounded but together; Texas, destroying bot after bot with ease.

Nothing they were doing seemed to truly reduce the numbers; robots fell but the fight never seemed to ease, the mass of black never seemed to thin. For every one she destroyed another one was in her face, with Tex’s strength and style—just less honed. Punches that never really missed, pushing her back and knocking the wind from her. At first it was doable—she wasn’t _unskilled_ , wasn’t _weak_ —but time wore her down, and for a moment it felt like the Project all over again, like the highway, like the day of the fall—

And then there was movement in her periphery, flickering brown that settled into a solid figure; the robot’s head turned, just for a second, but in the moment of distraction that followed a knife imbedded itself into the back of its head.

It fell to the ground.

Connie was panting, fighting wearing on her too. “You okay?” she said, bending to grab her knife from the bot’s helmet. To their left, the hologram flickered and faded. “These things really won’t go down easily.”

“I’m fine,” Carolina said, regaining her own breath. Her head was spinning, unit use taking its toll. “Thank— thank you, Connie.”

“We have your back, Charlotte. Don’t forget that.” Standing close to her side, she gripped her knives tight. “You’re not in this fight alone.”

No, Carolina thought, with Connie at her side and watching the colourful shapes move on her HUD; no she wasn’t.

Across the room, several panels of the bubble shield dropped just long enough for York to come barrelling in, stumbling and skidding across the floor. Nearly knocked South’s legs from under her, to a cry of ‘watch it!’ as she stumbled. North offered a hand, pulled him up to his feet and handed him his pistol.

“Theta, sync up with Delta and match with James’ rate of fire too—” (“ _Got it!_ ”) “—James, you okay?” He squeezed York’s shoulder, tilted his head. York elbowed his side.

“These things— they’re _tough_ ,” he said, groaning and stretching. “Gonna have a few bruises, that’s for sure, but I’m fine! I’m okay!” He added the last assurance when he saw the way North’s helmet tilted at him. He was _fine_.

“Okay lovebirds, fucking chill it with the flirting and just keep headshotting.”

“These things keep getting back up!” Wash’s voice had gone up three octaves. He was holding his own, stubborn as hell and with the stamina to match, but he was already down multiple mags. Shots were hitting, tearing armour apart, but without a clean head-shot they kept _trying again_. Even if they didn’t land a hit on him, it wasted more time, more ammo. A fact that wasn’t just true for him.

Maine grunted, grabbing one of the bots as it pushed itself back to its feet and crushing its head with a single fist. It collapsed, sparking. Wasn’t difficult. They couldn’t stand up to their strength, even if they packed a punch that they hadn’t felt since the three-on-one. Not many people that could knock the wind out of them, but Tex wasn’t just ‘people’.

 **Maine** [what do we do? too many. keep getting back up.]

“Keep fucking fighting them until they all go down, what the fuck else?” South baited a bot into the perimeter of the bubble, nodded back at Theta and— it split in half, hard-light severing it down the middle.

“Yeah, no offence? But you guys don’t have that—” a punch, “kinda—” two, “stamina!” three, Tex sent another bot to the floor in pieces. “Maybe the big guy and I could go for a while, but you assholes are already wearing out!”

“I can keep going just fine,” Carolina said, through gritted teeth and laboured breathing. But even she knew that was just her stubbornness talking, her unit was flooding her with just enough energy to keep her going, but once that failed…

“Not to mention we’re running out of ammo, like, fast,” York said, waving the pistol dramatically as he grabbed another clip and reloaded.

“We need a way to take them out in chunks.” Connie scrunched her face as blood dribbled from her nose, stabbed her knife into the rising head of a robot. “Grouping them up isn’t enough anymore.”

Wash swallowed a lump in his throat. Reloaded again. “Uh, I might— have a way to take them all out at once?”

Maine growled softly, a concerned sound. That wouldn’t work without…

“My EMP. I still have that installed in my armour.”

“Isn’t that fucking _tiny_?” South said.

“And wouldn’t it effect the fucking AI and units, not just the robots?” North added.

“Well, yeah, when I use it normally, but— all our units were meant to work with an AI, right? Mine— well, an AI can make the range bigger and target it, so it only hits certain things.” His throat felt tight, an unpleasant tingle shooting up the back of his skull. “If I had an AI in my suit—” not his implants, never that, “—then in theory…”

“That could work,” Connie said.

South grunted. “One problem, the AI can’t just fucking— _jump_ to you, rookie, and everyone’s _kinda_ busy!”

“Mine could, but I got him pulled and I’m not subjecting anyone to him,” Tex said, throwing another robot to the ground and rolling her shoulders. “But—fuck, I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this— _I_ can.”

“Wait, you—?” He found himself doing a double take, arms falling slack and rifle dropping. Tex was stood dead still, taking an unneeded deep breath.

“Hey, what’s more fucking poetic than me getting to fucking annihilate freaky copies of myself?” she said, squaring her stance. “Brace yourself rookie, this might be kinda weird.”

With that, a translucent black figure disconnected from her body—which stayed up, however unsteadily. Before Wash even registered that it had moved further, his HUD’s colours changed to black and an energy flooded his armour’s systems.

_Alright rookie, this is definitely weird so let’s get this shit over with._

_…copy that._

EMP charged, Tex buzzed around his armour. _Okay, what you’re gonna do is you’re gonna grab the next robot that gets back up, got it? I’ll take it from there._

So when a sparking, shot up robot pulled itself up from the ground and launched at him with another punch— he grabbed it by the arm, and watched as a burst of blue energy crackled through its chassis.

Spasming wildly, it fell to the ground.

_And now the rest._

A wave of energy shot across the room, danced around the agents and jumped between the robots one by one. They convulsed, sparked, twitched and dropped, heavy thunks and weak whirring. Shorted out.

All of them, in one blast.

Everything stopped.

“Holy shit that actually fucking worked,” South said, staring at the piles of bots on the floor. “Fucking— thank fuck.”

Wash felt the energy in his armour drop back to normal levels and caught a flash of black in his periphery, before Tex’s body was shaking itself out. He breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn’t been unbearable.

Carolina caught Connie as she stumbled, hand on her helmet and shaking her head. She was okay, she’d only used her unit one time over her limit; it would pass soon enough, now that the fighting was over. Nevertheless, Carolina beckoned over South—who immediately began to fuss—before she stepped away to lean against the nearest wall.

She cast her eyes over the field, over the destroyed copies. Attempts. He hadn’t changed, he’d only gotten worse; the evidence was right in front of her. Spiralling downwards and downwards, trying again and again to recreate someone who’d died so long ago that she barely remembered life before the tragedy—though she spent the rest of her life suffering for it.

She’d come this far. They’d gotten past his sick collection. She was so close to her revenge—

So why did this, this… _nauseating_ evidence, make her feel hesitation?

“Found the door!” Tex called, kicking the seam in the metal. “Doesn’t seem to be sealed by more than a button. Didn’t expect people to get this far.”

“Charlotte?”

Carolina tore her eyes away from the copies, let them fall on Connie. Tilted her head.

Connie nodded towards the door. “Do you… want to go in alone?”

Did she? _Could_ she? After coming all this way with her team at her back, could she face him alone? With Tex there, was it even _right_ to?

“…no,” she said, as South came up behind Connie. “No, not alone.”


	26. Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the final chapter of the main plot. There’ll be a proper final note at the end of chapter 27, which is going to be a rather self-indulgent epilogue that isn’t required for the plot, but for now... thanks everyone who’s been reading. I can’t believe I actually got this far, but here we are.

“ _And, don’t worry, you’ll see me again._ ”

The words, that _voice_ , pierced her chest like an ice-cold bolt and she froze dead in the doorway, breath caught in her throat and teeth sinking into her lip. How many years had it been, since she’d heard that voice? That sentiment? How many years had it been since she heard it coming from his office, on a seemingly endless loop?

Even after so long, her lips mimicked it silently, “— _don’t say goodbye. I_ hate _goodbyes._ ”

Things were even worse than she’d thought.

This wasn’t just a downward spiral.

This was square zero.

All. Over. Again.

He was there, of course. Sat with his back to the door he was typing, though his eyes never seemed to leave the screen in front of him for long. On his command, the video started over; Allison Church returned to her position at the door of their old house for a split second, before batting at the camera as she told him to let her go.

The scene was all too familiar. It was almost too easy to superimpose it with the collection of coffee mugs, the extra computer screens, the communicator and all the other little personal items that had once filled his desk at home. Remove the grey from his hair, the age from his hands. Morph the room into something more familiar, less stark.

“Hello, Agent Carolina.”

Though someone had been shaking her arm, trying to get her attention, it wasn’t until the Director spoke up that she snapped back to reality. Stopped seeing the room from a distance born of a memory. The clutter faded away, leaving the desk as empty as it truly was, and the signs of age returned, his hands shaking slightly as he set the data-pad down.

Instead of answering him, she stepped away from the door to let the others inside. The hand on her arm never left; it squeezed, softly, as its owner came to her side and when she looked down, she saw Connie—one of three that had followed her in. Though unspoken questions weren’t easy, this one was hard to miss.

But nodding would be a lie and shaking her head would be admitting she wasn’t okay.

Hesitation had her gut tied in knots and she didn’t understand _why_.

Connie knew what the video was, what it meant; it had been one of the files attached to the information on Beta—on Texas. The Director must have been watching it over and over, like this, trying to find what it was he needed to make those copies _right_. Tens upon tens of attempts. Something had to be missing, in his eyes.

So there he was. Looking for that missing detail.

It had stopped being about Alpha and the fragments long before they got here, she could see that now. With no illusions to keep up, no obligations to the UNSC, all his time had been free to focus on _her_. Without the constraints of his own lies, his ever-growing obsession had been left un-checked.

Tex’s teeth grit, her fingers flexed and her hands curled into fists. After only a split second, she tore her eyes away from the screen and away from the uncannily familiar face on it. Watching this video once was bad enough, _hard_ enough. Seeing that face, hearing that voice. There was a reason she’d rejected the name ‘Allison’, after she dropped Texas.

“Either of you got a fucking bullet in your gun so I can shoot that damn screen?” she snapped, suddenly regretting using any ammo at all back in the previous room. One bullet, right in the centre— _that_ would be enough.

It wasn’t a bullet, but the knife that pierced the screen a second later did the job just as well.

The screen fractured and behind the cracks, the image glitched. Froze.

The Director’s hand twitched. “Now, Agent Connecticut, I believe that was rather unnecessary.”

“No, actually I don’t believe it was, Director,” Connie said, a swell of confidence rising up and settling into her chest alongside the anxious energy there. With the video cut off she saw Carolina’s shoulders drop, loosen slightly. “Turn around.”

“I was working. I’m think I’m close, now; I can feel it.” Despite the broken screen that now sat before him, he didn’t turn. Didn’t face them. “If you’d only give me a little more time—”

“ _No_.” Tex and Carolina spoke in unison, sharp and firm, but it was Carolina who kept talking. Took one step forward, then another; stood just behind him, at his side. “It’s _over_ , Director. You don’t _get_ any more time, you’ve had more than enough. You’ve _done_ enough.”

The weight of her team at her back was as tangible as the tension in the air, as heavy as the few seconds of silence that followed her words. No one moved to follow, none of the three dared intrude—even Texas stood back, held her tongue for now.

“I just need a little more time. I think I know what’s missing. I can make her _right_.”

Stuck in a loop. Running on repeat. It should have made her frustrated, but instead Carolina felt… pity? No, that wasn’t the right word. Hard to place, to define. Characterised only by the twisting knot of hesitation in her gut, the second guessing what she came here to do.

“You _can’t_. She’s _gone_ , those things _aren’t_ her. _Beth_ isn’t her—”

“No, they aren’t. They’re missing something, if I could only—”

Grabbing his chair she spun it around, made him turn away from that damned screen. Made him _face_ them. “You’re not _listening_. They’ll _never_ be her, you need to— you need to _stop_.”

Almost instantly, she regretted it. He barely flinched and now, she was left to face those goddamn green eyes. Staring at her. Unashamed of forcing her to meet them, even through her visor.

Her words caught in her throat and she withdrew, pulled away from the gaze.

“You have to fucking _pay_ for what you’ve done,” South bit, unable to hold her tongue any longer. Not when Carolina looked so uncomfortable. “For what you did to the fucking AI, to Beth and Carolina, to Washington, to _me_ and my fucking brother— to _everyone_. Everything that fucking happened to us— that’s on _you_. All the hell we’ve been through, everything you fucking did—”

Interjecting, the Director spoke sharply. “Everything I _did_ , I did for the _good_ of _humanity_. We are at _war_ , I did what was necessary to access the technology I needed to secure the survival of our species. Sacrifices are made in war, especially in one such as this—a reality you were all very much aware of when you agreed to join my experiment.”

Carolina swallowed, but struggled to find the words she needed to dispute him. That knot in her gut twisted tighter, nausea swelling.

“Yeah, right; agreed, that’s a fucking word for it, sure.” Pointing at herself, Connie, Carolina, then Texas, she said: “Blackmail, blackmail, _probably_ blackmail, forced into existence and lied about who she was for the entire fucking duration. Sure, ‘agreed’ works.”

“You made your choices, as I made mine. If given the choice, I would make the same decisions again.” The weight of his gaze fell on Connie and she tensed. “It was not I who leaked military secrets to an _unknown_ organisation. It was not I who caused the collapse of our operation. That falls solely on the shoulders of Agent Connecticut.”

Even now, broken and so obsessed with _her_ that he’d given up on all else, he fell back on manipulation.

And for a moment, Connie found herself thinking… he was _right_. As South grit her teeth and had to be held back from lunging for him herself, anger overriding their agreement with Carolina, she couldn’t shake that guilt that had been deep-set in her psyche for the past two years. If she’d never been in communication with Charon’s soldiers, if she’d never handed over her information, if she’d simply let it slide like so many others in her position would have done… then things wouldn’t have escalated like they had.

If she’d done nothing, stayed quiet and ignored what was happening because it might have paid off in the end, then none of this would have happened.

But that moment… passed.

It was one thing to hear the blame coming from herself, to lay it all at her own feet; it was another entirely for him to place it there for her, to claim he’d done nothing wrong at all and that it was all on _her._

“No,” she said, firm and unwavering. That wasn’t his call to make. “I thought for a long, _long_ time that this was all my fault, but you know what? No. It wasn’t. I did what I knew was right—you were putting humanity at _risk_ , violating the Cole Protocol and keeping vital intelligence away from those who could use it. Not to mention the moral implications of every sick little experiment you performed on us, on the Alpha. I was doing the _right thing_ and I’m not at fault for that being used against me.”

The Director sat back in his seat, hands flexing uneasily on the arms. Those bright green eyes, constantly flickering back towards the screen. “I should have known you were more of a liability than you were an asset, Agent Connecticut.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “but you can’t change the past. That seems to be a lesson you need more than most, Director. Carolina, what do you want to do?”

“…I don’t know.” Uncertainty, hesitation, pity, grief—planning something in the abstract was much easier than carrying it out in the reality, when the person who you planned to kill was sat right in front of you. Pathetic and regressed and already a broken shell of a man who she now knew could never truly let go of the past.

A lifetime of neglect and pain hung behind her, but wasn’t that the past too?

Would killing him make up for it, give her the closure she wanted?

Or would it just be one more thing to follow her?

The Director spun his chair back to face the screen and picked up his data-pad. “I just need a _little_ more time. That’s all I ask, a little more time.”

“And you’re not getting it,” Tex said, grabbing his chair and forcing him back to face them. “This is over, Director. One way or another, you’re _not_ getting out of this.”

“Connie?” Carolina said. Connie tilted her head. “Would turning him over to the UNSC to face trial clear the names of the agents?”

“I— in theory, yeah,” she replied, brow furrowing. “So long as the proof that no one knew what was going on in the Project was handed over with him—Charon conveniently left that part out. Some of you would have to be willing to be there and trials are all sorts of unpredictable, but… yeah, in theory.”

“I thought you wanted to _kill_ him?” Tex said, a little above a hiss. “That doesn’t sound like killing him to me.”

“That was the plan, but… plans change. The past doesn’t. See— the past isn’t what defines who you are, it just… gives you the starting point for who you’re going to be.” Breathe deep, in and out. “Too much of my life has been about _this_ , about what he’s done and what it made _me_ do. I won’t let it take my future and I certainly won’t let it take my team’s.”

South crossed her arms. “And not fucking killing him does that _how?_ Like, serious question.”

“Later. Not now. Just trust me on this and let me make this choice. We take him into custody, we clear our names and bounties on our heads.” Though the Director was sat mere feet away, he didn’t look up from his data-pad at any point. Once again, wrapped up in the past. Killing him would be easy, but she’d made her choice—it would follow her, she could feel it in her gut. “That’s what I want to do.”

“Alright,” Tex shrugged, shoulders tight, “that’s what you want to do. And whilst you do _that_ , I’m gonna go find the Alpha. Check the poor asshole’s still alive.”

Tex left the room without another word, the sharp bangs of her boots against the metal jolting Connie and Carolina. Frowning slightly, Connie watched her go.

“There’s a couple places we could shove his ass, hold him for a bit,” South said, nodding towards the exit. “Clear this place out, figure out the actual fucking game plan here. Not gonna be so fucking simple as just dumping him on the UNSC’s doorstep.”

“I know.” Breathe deep, in and out. Her hand closed around the Director’s arm. “Come with me, Director. It’s over.”

“I just need a little—”

A sharp jerk of his arm cut him off and, face dead-set in hard lines behind her helmet, Carolina dragged him out of the room. No more. It was finally _over._

“You think she’s making the right choice?” Pulling off her helmet, South tucked it against her waist. “Like— fuck, man, if I’d been faced with my asshole dad I wouldn’t hesitate for a sec— why are you looking at me like that?”

Connie blinked, pulled off her own helmet to reveal an incredulous look. “You said _dad_ , how do you—?”

“Fucking, please. Babe. The way she was fucking talking about her dad when we talked the other day, combined with her fucking absolute dedication to killing the Director? Not hard. Also, did you see the man’s eyes? Those aren’t common fucking genes.” When Connie kept staring, South snorted and leaned down to kiss her. “Hey, I’m not as much a fucking dumbass as people like to think. I’m fucking observant. And don’t worry, I’m not gonna say shit to her. If she wants me to know, I’ll know. If she doesn’t, I’ll pretend I never figured it out.”

“…even I still underestimate you sometimes, huh?” Connie smiled, wrapped a hand around the back of her head and knocked their foreheads together. “I— I don’t know if she made the right choice in the long run, but— she made the right choice for her right now.”

“Eh, fair e-fucking-nough. C’mon, let’s go help her.”

 

The Director was thrown into a small, self-contained room with no contents and locked inside; York posted up outside the door, guarding it in case he tried anything. Not that anyone expected that he would, Delta claimed that the odds were negligible under the circumstances.

Another sweep of the facility and a trip through one of the teleporters, calibrated to a different set of coordinates, lead to the discovery of Alpha in another secret area at the back of the compound. Broken down and so tired that it took almost an hour of gentle coaxing to get him to move into Tex’s armour’s AI slot—just so they could take him through to the front. No more fragments had been taken, but, with so many pieces of him already removed and having been left in isolation for so long, he was still extremely weak.

Originally she intended to move him into a drive, but for now Tex kept him close. It seemed to relax him.

There was nothing else to find, no more grand secrets to uncover. The bunker had simply been the refuge of an old man, running from his crimes and burying himself in his work; the AI were untouched, as was any equipment not relevant to the recreation of Allison. No one else had stuck around. The last vestiges of the Project were all gathered in that facility, but he hid nothing. None of it mattered to him.

“If I’d killed him,” Carolina said, leaning against one of the crates that made up the training floor, “then we’d never be able to clear our names. Whether we left him here or handed his body over, we’d continue to look guilty—with or without the missing evidence.”

“And handing him over means we at least stand a chance,” Connie said, sighing. “Right, that makes sense. But, Charlotte, any trial could take months, or longer. This does… drag it on. Especially with Price still out there, there’s no sign of him here.”

“It gives us the best chances. And once it’s over, it’s over; one way or another. Price is a loose thread, but he’s also the most likely to weasel his way out of a conviction. Him… him I’d like to see dealt with, properly, but like you say: he’s not here.”

“Guess we can’t fucking argue with that.” South was sat on the floor, legs spread out. “Fuck. I can’t believe this shit could finally be basically fucking _over_ in a few months.”

“My intel is good, it proves that none of us were aware of his major crimes—the violation of the Cole Protocol, the unreported Huragok, the abuse of Alpha in of itself… we all did a lot of morally dubious things, but most of that will be written off because we believed it was for the good of the war. It’s the things that threatened the war they’ll be interested in,” Connie said. With another sigh, she picked at a seam in the kevlar. “But I don’t think Natasha and I can be there.”

Confusion knitted Carolina’s brow. “Why not?”

“Because we’ve committed a _lot_ more actual crimes since then, which _aren’t_ covered by the belief we were working towards the end of the war. Nemesis and Veritas are wanted mercenaries throughout the Luminous-VI system, Charlotte.” Picking at the seam a little harder, she rubbed her face.

“Yeah, we pissed off a lot of fucking people; some of ‘em probably have connections to the UNSC and shit. Plus, the UNSC knew what we were doing—we had actual UNSC soldiers on us more than once, new armour colours and names be fucking damned.” South dropped her head back against a crate with a dull thud.

“Not to mention I’m still going to be considered a liability for violating UNSC security,” Connie added. “It’s too big a risk, if we stay here and turn ourselves in for the trial I very much doubt we’d come out of it free from prison, even if we were cleared of charges relating to the Project.”

“Oh.” Teeth worried her lip, threatened to burst it again. “I suppose that makes sense. I was hoping we wouldn’t be splitting the team, but circumstances are what they are.”

“Hey,” South punched her leg, “don’t get all down and shit, I know you love our company—” (“Oh really, huh?”) “—but we’re not gonna just fucking drop off the face of the galaxy. We’ll keep in touch, keep up with how shit’s going. Get ready to break you out if shit goes south.”

Despite the playful roll of her eyes, Connie smiled. “What she said.”

“You better, it took me long enough to find you the first time,” Carolina said, corner of her lips twitching up. It was hard not to smile, South’s attitude was always a little infectious. That smile was met with a big, mischievous grin and a glint to her eye. “Suppose that means you’ll be going back to your work, then?”

“Fuck yeah. We decided we were gonna keep doing it months ago, before all this; don’t think anything’s changed that. No going back now, motherfuckers,” South said, throwing her arms out dramatically. Connie giggled and shook her head. “What?”

“Nothing. Love you, Tasha.”

“Heh. Love you too.”

Apprehension bubbled in Carolina’s chest and her teeth tugged harder at her lip. What would she do, when this was all said and done? The war was over. So much of her life had been dedicated to the military, to the fight, but the fight she’d started would be over. Of course there were always positions in the UNSC, they still had need for soldiers—but after all this, was that what she wanted?

“Maybe… maybe after this, the trial, is over— I could join you, again,” she said, biting the bullet she hadn’t even realised was coming. “Athena. That was what you designated me, right?”

South’s grin grew. “Fuck yeah it was. And, hey, remember what I said? About being that fucking person? That doesn’t end now. If you still wanna come with us when this is over, well—” a glance at Connie, answered by a nod and a smile, “—you’re welcome to join us, babe. Truth, Vengeance and War.”

“Or Wisdom,” Connie pointed out, making no attempt to hide her lopsided smile.

“Or that.” South shrugged, winked. “Either way? Perfect fit.”

A wave of relief washed over Carolina. She dropped her lip, letting it pull back with her smile. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to think on it properly, in the meantime.” But her decision felt unlikely to change. There’d been a sense of home, in the bay of the Pelican; after only a few weeks, she’d started to settle.

Coming back would be nice, she thought. At least to give their life a try.

“First things first, you’re going to have to contact the UNSC,” Connie said after a moment, nodding up towards the door that concealed the Director. Catching sight of a bickering Wash and York, with an amused looking Maine and tired looking North watching on, she laughed. “I don’t imagine it’ll take them long to get here, but we’ll leave you some supplies anyway. Luckily you’re not going to be without company.”

The two women followed her gaze and chuckled. York was pushing Wash’s head down whilst Wash huffed—at least, until Maine crossed their arms and grunted, saving him from further torment. Raising his hands, York grinned goofily and backed off.

“Yeah.” Carolina smiled. “Luckily.”

Within a few hours they’d done all they could, ahead of the eventual arrival of the UNSC. With Connie’s help they’d constructed a message and transmitted it, reporting the discovery and capture of Dr. Leonard Church, Director of Project Freelancer. Carolina already had the dog tags that held all of the original data that Connie had gathered and everything else they needed to prove what had been going on was right there in the compound.

The decision was also made that Connie and South would take Tex with them when they left, drop her off somewhere she could lay low for the duration of the trial with Alpha. If Alpha himself was really needed for the trial, then Carolina could contact her, but until then—

“—I’m not risking getting my ass pulled from my body and shoved in some containment unit. I kinda doubt that the UNSC want a rogue AI running around pretending she’s human, so I’m not going to give them the chance to do anything about it. So—”

—she’d hide, at least until the heat died back down.

Everything had been set in motion, now it was little more than a waiting game.

And so it was time for South and Connie to leave.

“I _promise_ we’ll keep in touch,” Connie said as she dragged Wash down into a hug, squeezing him as tight as she could with her face in a matching scrunch. “I refuse to lose track of you again, you got that? I expect communications every week, if not every other day!”

Wash chuckled, squeezing her back just as tightly in return. “Don’t worry, we’ll message whenever we can and call too. Your scrambling programs are good enough to mask that, right?”

“ _Seo-Jun_ ,” she said with a mock gasp, pulling back from the hug and giving him an offended look, “of _course_ they are, I’m insulted that you even felt the need to _ask_ such a thing.”

He spoke with a note of laughter, ruffling her hair and shoving her head down. “Shut up.”

Punching him in the arm and ducking out of the way of the attempt at dragging her into a retaliatory headlock, she stretched up on her tip toes and offered her open arms to Maine. Crouching down they hugged her close and rested their forehead against hers with their eyes closed; she mimicked them, exhaling quietly and appreciating the moment. After a few seconds they pulled away, ruffled her hair and stood up.

Despite knowing that this wouldn’t be the last time she saw them, she couldn’t help the feeling of worry that swelled up in her chest and made her voice tremble.

“…I’m gonna miss you guys. I promise, if we find any sign of the Counselor out there? We’ll deal with him and you’ll be the first to know.”

Neither of them wasted time in dragging her back into another hug, enveloping her and trapping her between them. With a choked little laugh she clung onto them too, no objections to be heard.

“You fucking keep your ass out of fucking trouble, okay? No more—” she waved her hands vaguely, “—faking your death and shit! Like seriously, you guys say _I_ overreact, fuck,” South said, shoving her brother half-heartedly. “UNSC’s gonna know you’re alive now so don’t fucking piss them off either, they don’t need any more reasons to wanna fuck with you.”

“I’m not going to piss off the UNSC, Nat,” North said, shaking his head. “Well, no more than I already have.”

“That’s all I fucking ask. And that you fucking keep in touch, okay? Like, fuck, Nik, I fucking hate your guts sometimes but you’re my fucking brother and the year I spent thinking you were fucking _dead_ wasn’t fucking fun.” Hand on her hip, she huffed. “But also— don’t fucking _pester_ me, like, calm down on the overbearing asshole brother thing. Baby the AI, you _literally_ got him for that reason.”

“Anything else?” He chuckled, raised a brow at her—kinda? Could he raise a brow when he didn’t have eyebrows? South squinted, considered the question for longer than necessary before just shoving him again, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Shut the fuck up,” she said, without malice, as she pulled him into a hug. “ _Люблю_ _тебя,_ _мудак_.”

“ _Я_ _тоже_ _тебя_ _люблю,_ _наташа_.”

Carolina didn’t approach them again until they were stood at the foot of the ramp up into the Pelican, ready to leave. For a long moment they simply stood in silence—most of what needed to be said had already been said, their plans already in place for the future. There was just one thing that Carolina wanted to say, with a sincerity she felt she hadn’t managed before.

“Thank you.”

Beaming grin on her face, South pulled her into a hug and Carolina returned it, with little more than a split second’s hesitation. Dropped her head against her shoulder, inhaled deeply.

This was all just the first step to starting over, for all of them.

All any of them could do was pray they didn’t stumble.

 

A few days and lightyears away, they dropped Texas on a colony a system over from Luminous-VI. Abandoned by the UNSC and not looking like it would be reconnected with any time soon, it was a safer option than returning her to the system where they’d all scattered in the first place.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay out here on your own?”

“Sure,” Tex said, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Survived two years on my own, didn’t I? Besides, I got this asshole to keep me company now—” gesturing to the AI slot built into her, where Alpha still resided, “—even if he’s still kinda tired, sleeping a lot.”

Connie smiled. “Guess I can’t argue with that. Keep in contact, okay? I know the ‘your friend’ thing was cliché, but I meant it then. Still mean it now.”

“Eh, can’t promise I’ll do it a lot. Small talk’s not my forte, but—I’ll keep you updated. Take care of yourself, Connie.” Nudging Connie’s shoulder with a fist, she gave a mock-salute goodbye. Connie waved her off as she jogged away, heading for the town they’d landed not far from, before ducking back inside the ship.

“Time to head home, huh?” called South from the cockpit, already starting take-off procedure.

“We’re calling Luminous-VI home now?” Connie said, raising a brow. The bay door closed behind her and she wandered up to the front of the ship, draping her arms over South from behind her seat. “That’s new.”

“Babe, we’ve lived in that system for like two years. Sure we didn’t exactly _settle down_ or shit, but close enough.” The Pelican lifted from the ground and South angled them up, flying them back up into orbit. “Home fits. At the very fucking least it’s home base.”

“Mm, fair enough.” A kiss pressed to the top of South’s head. “I’m going to drop a message to Whistler and Castor before we go into slipspace. Let them know we’re okay.”

“Mm’kay. I’ll get us ready.”

Pressing another kiss to her head, Connie stood back. Going back to sit on the bed she grabbed the PC and pulled up her communications with their friends, typing out a quick message.

 **Veritas** [Hey Alex, sorry for the radio silence. Got rather hectic around here, but it’s quietened down; everyone’s left. I don’t really have time to give you a full run-down right now, but we’re on our way back to Luminous-VI so I can tell you face-to-face soon. Just know that we’re okay and the situation is on its way to being resolved for good. Talk soon!]

Clicking send, she sat back. Felt the weight of the quiet fall over her, a thick blanket that had her dropping to lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t noticed it until she’d mentioned it to Whistler, but it _was_ quiet; with everyone gone, the bay had returned to its natural state. Silence, all except for the dull noise of the engines.

After the constant noise and company of the others, it was almost suffocating. It would only take a few days to get used to it again, to take comfort in the quiet, but for now… she sighed, rubbed her eyes and let her hands rest on her face.

She hoped they’d made the right decisions.

A little while later the bed sunk and she rolled over, smiled at South. “Hey…”

“Hey cutie.” Reaching over, she brushed her hair from her face. “We’re on our way. Got some time to kill.”

“Mmhm. Gonna come down here?”

Her answer came in the form of arms wrapped around her and a warm body next to her, tucking her against her chest. Exhaling softly she smiled wider, nuzzling her face against her and latching on, legs around her hips. Perfect.

“Sure is quiet without those assholes in here, huh?” South said, running her fingers through Connie’s hair. Connie nodded with another little ‘mmhm’, squeezing her with her legs. “Fuck, I can’t believe it’s only been a couple fucking months. Felt like they were with us way longer.”

“It really did…” Connie laughed softly. “No more night time gymnastics trying to get into bed without stepping on poor Charlotte.”

“How many times did you nearly fall on her?”

“ _Too many_.”

South chuckled and nuzzled the top of her head. “Well, she’ll just have to sleep on the bed next time. Y’know, for safety’s sake.”

“Subtle.” She giggled.

“My gay is never fucking subtle, Connie. You know that.”

“Guess in a few months things are going to change again, huh?” Connie said. Fingers trailed down South’s spine, dancing down and up and making her shiver under the touch. “We’ll have to chat with her plenty, during that time.”

“Course. Can’t let her forget how awesome we are.” Another shiver ran up her spine. “Plus, y’know. Important talks and shit.”

Connie hummed. “Important talks and shit. Exactly.”

“So— what’s next? Like, in the immediate fucking future, not months down the line when this shit is finally fucking over,” South said, playing a little with the hem of Connie’s shirt. “Right back to jobs?”

“Mm, maybe meet up with Alex and Darian second. We can ask them about what jobs have been fielded recently, see if there’s anything good for us; get ourselves back into the swing of it.” The hand tracing down South’s back stopped at the base of her spine, nudging up her shirt so that instead she could trail her fingers against bare skin. Push her shirt up, in the process. “After… well with the war being over and everything being as it is, I’m sure there’s plenty of people in Luminous-VI and all over who need help. Branching out to do more non-profit things like that trafficking ring might be nice.”

South’s breath caught, slightly, as Connie’s touch danced up between her shoulder blades. Shivered at the bay’s cold air on her skin. “Yeah, sure, fuck it. Not like we’re lacking funds or chance to get more when we need it. But uh— babe, you said second? Did you forget ‘first’ was a word?”

“ _No_!” With a startled burst of laughter, Connie pecked her lips. “I was— okay I was setting up to be all smooth and say ‘first, though, it’s my job to fuck you into the mattress’. That’s smooth, right?”

Blinking slowly, South stared at her. “…babe, I fucking love you.”

“Sooo— that’s a yes?” Connie tilted her head, other hand already climbing up under the bunched front of her shirt.

“To the smooth thing? Nope, not at all. To the fucking? _Fuck yeah._ It’s been fucking forever, I swear I love those assholes but _fuck_ were they cockblocks.”

Connie rolled her eyes, giggling and pushing her over onto her back. Swift with practice, she swung her leg over her body and settled right over her hips, leaning over her and pressing kisses up her throat. In an instant, South melted beneath her.

“Mm, well they’re not here now,” she said in a sing-song voice, nuzzling beneath her ear. “I’ll make up for lost time, _promise_.”

And with a long few hours in the slipstream to kill, she certainly did that.

 

Days and then weeks and then months went by, the official trial of the Director of Project Freelancer finally underway tens of lightyears away on Earth. The media frenzy surrounding the Project grew in a crescendo the further away they got from the official end of the war and the closer they got to a verdict.

If the whispers Connie heard through the network and local UNSC chatter were anything to go by, the intensive coverage of the trial was the perfect distraction from the other things that had started to come out into the open. Really, she couldn’t say she was surprised.

There was no questioning the evidence, the investigation into the Project had run for over a year before it stalled and in that time the UNSC had gathered everything they needed to supplement Connie’s original data. With the Director on the stand, trying to justify his actions and in the process admitting to everything—well, it was clear cut.

According to Carolina, every word out of the man’s mouth implicated him further. And it wasn’t only him, the records and the Director’s guilt-laden speeches contained enough information to condemn Aiden Price to a lifetime behind bars—should he be found. Everyone involved in the activities at the top of the Project, everyone who directly contributed to the protocol violations and the torture of the Alpha, were implicated.

The Agents, on the other hand?

Connie’s intel cleared them off all charges. Nothing could prove that they were aware of what was happening. Combined with the thorough documentation of the manipulation that had not only taken place during the Project, but had been used to _recruit_ them—it was almost as clear cut as the Director’s conviction.

Bringing in the Director and the remaining missing equipment from Project Freelancer—minus the smart AI themselves—even earned them a certain amount of… wilful ignorance, when it came to some of the accusations that had landed them in the Project in the first place.

Essentially, they were let free to try and rebuild their lives.

They were told in a lengthy communication, written in a report-like style that Carolina couldn’t quite shake, about how York and North planned to take a while on Earth to visit York’s surviving family before deciding what to do next. About how Maine, to whom the concept of a life outside of the military just didn’t _exist_ before the Project fell, was already making plans with Wash to move back out to Luminescence where they’d been starting to build a life.

And about how she’d made her decision.

Two weeks after she sent her last message, an unmarked, re-painted Pelican was sighted passing over a nearby population centre right about the time that she received a simple communication:

[Get your ass and the ass of anyone who wants a lift to the north edge of the city. One time offer ;P] **Nemesis**

With a bag filled with armour, other supplies and the two AI chips that, technically, she shouldn’t have, Carolina approached the north edge of the city. Wash and Maine were hot on her heels, chattering about something or other—only one half of the conversation audible.

They were waiting for them, stood in the open bay with big smiles, raised arms, an excited wave from South. Carolina was less surprised than she expected to feel the urge to run over, all composure forgone. But no, she only increased her pace _slightly_.

She came to a dead stop, at the middle of the ramp.

“Hey Charlotte.” South’s face was split with a grin, one arm slung around Connie. “Sorry we’re late. Slipspace is a tricky bitch sometimes, who woulda thought, huh?”

“Every single scientist and member of the military who works with it regularly?” Connie offered, straight-faced until South planted a hand on her head and shoved it down when she started to giggle. A smile graced Carolina’s face before she was even aware of the warmth in her chest.

Or the way she bounced, ever so slightly, on the tips of her toes.

“You’re here now,” she said, gripping her bag’s strap tighter, “that’s what matters.”

“Damn fucking right it is. You’re gonna have the time of your life babe, swear it,” South said, raising her other arm in an offer. “So how about it, Charlotte? Ready to join the team?”

And with laughter bubbling from that warmth in her chest, Carolina rolled her eyes and dropped her bag inside the ship—let herself be pulled into a one-armed hug. “I _called_ you here because I decided I am!”

“Hey, never hurts to be fucking sure!”

She was tucked against South’s chest as Connie’s smaller arm wrapped around her waist, exhaling softly and letting any tension in her muscles melt away. Maybe this wasn’t where she saw her life going and maybe, in a few weeks or months, it would go another way.

But for now? This was what she wanted.

South’s grin grew and she shared a look with Connie, her fingers already running through Carolina’s hair. The past two, nearly three, years had been a hell of a fucking ride but here they were. Alive. Free of the Project, hopefully for good. With their friends and a home and a rather… unconventional, job, but a job nonetheless. It had taken almost three years, but fuck, they did what they had to do and now they were _free_ from it all. Now they could really start again.

Sure, life still wasn’t going to be _easy_ ; but hey, where’s the fun in easy anyway?

Veritas, Nemesis, Athena.

Truth and Vengeance and Wisdom.

They always did fit their names pretty damn well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note, to avoid spoilers, but I just want to say that SouthCTLina was in no way part of my original plan. Originally I had other plans for Carolina's relationship status but Carolina... had other ideas. Once she was introduced, she started getting very sappy and very gay towards Connie and South so I let things take their course and now here we are!


	27. End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who's made it this far! This is the first long-fic I've written in years and it's been fun to work on for the past year! I'll be going back and making some edits to previous chapters eventually, cleaning it up a bit, and I have a one-shot prequel planned but for now... here's the end.

Quiet humming and the faint clicking of keys on a keyboard were the only sounds in the simple living room. It was early in the evening and Connie found herself alone for a little while, her hosts busy and leaving her to her own devices.

Fine by her, she had some work to do to pass the time—a simple coding project, something for the network rather than a client. There was no rush, so it was easy to drop whenever the others reappeared. Maybe she could have turned on the TV or pulled up a book, but she’d never quite broken the association of live TV with news about the Project and a book was harder to disconnect from.

So, work it was.

Being so quiet, she heard the uneven patter of slightly wobbly footsteps behind her long before the tiny hand grasped at her shirt and a nose pressed against her. Turning her head just slightly revealed a little tuft of black hair peeking up over her shoulder and a chubby little fingers with a fistful of her top.

“Well hey there Nari.”

Suddenly aware that she’d been spotted, the toddler peeped up at Connie over that shoulder, deep brown eyes lit up with a simple innocence. Connie couldn’t help but giggle, swivelling around and gently prying Nari’s hand away from her shirt; lifting her arm up over her, she scooped her up and sat her down on her thigh.

“Come to bother me, huh?” she said, leaning to look at her. Nari reached up to grasp at the hair that dangled in her face and Connie carefully pulled herself free. “Careful, kiddo. You’re stronger than you realise.”

“Hair!” Nari protested, stretching and grabbing for her hair again. Connie tucked the loose hair behind her ear and gently grabbed Nari’s arm, playfully shaking her hand as she shook her head.

“Nope, no hair. It’s gone,” she said, giggling again at the look on Nari’s face. “C’mon grumpy, you can sit here until you get bored. Just wriggle a lot if you want down.”

Nari nodded—not that she recognised the instruction, but Connie knew she’d start wriggling restlessly if she wanted to be let go. So, securing her in place on her leg with a hand, she continued to work. Rambled at Nari about what she was doing, knowing full well that she didn’t understand a word, but amused by the way she seemed entranced anyway. Wide-eyed and sucking her thumb, she watched the code appear on the screen.

It occupied her attention for much longer than Connie expected, having thought she’d want off within only a couple of minutes. Ten minutes later, however, she was still sitting patiently watching the screen and listening to her Bibi’s technical ramblings. Thumb tucked into her mouth, her other hand tugging at one of the fingers on the hand that held her secure.

“—which will mean I have a back door in…” she said, trailing off. An amused smile graced her face and she gently shook Nari, kissing the top of her head. “You just like listening to people talk, don’t you? Or do you just like my voice in particular?”

“Uhhh,” Nari’s little brow knitted, only to shoot up a moment later along with her arms—nearly hitting Connie in the face, “Bibi!”

Laughing, she gently coaxed Nari’s hand down. “My voice, huh cutie? I’m honoured. Maybe one day when you actually understand what I’m saying I can teach you a few things.”

“Hey now, you better not be conspiring to teach my daughter how to hack into ONI,” a voice came from the doorway. Leaning against the frame, Wash raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. His hair had long since returned to its natural black, as he’d fallen out of the habit of bleaching during their two years on the run and simply never picked it up again. There was a little scruff darkening his jawline, now that he’d finally got back on a reliable dose of T. And, most importantly, there was a joyful glint in his eyes. “We’ve had enough trouble for one lifetime, you know.”

“Says the man harbouring not one, not two, but _three_ wanted mercenaries under his roof for the week,” Connie retorted, tickling Nari’s belly lightly. The toddler giggled and squirmed, so much so that she toppled sideways over Connie’s lap in a fit of laughter. “Nari. _Please._ ”

Wash chuckled. “Yeah and I might not offer my spare room so readily if you’re gonna be a bad influence.”

Gasping in mock offense, Connie flipped him the bird.

“That doesn’t help your case! You have my toddler on your lap and you’re making obscene gestures!” Wash said, voice going up an octave in that familiar way that Connie couldn’t help but giggle at. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a low chuckle, Wash walked over and sat down not far from her. Picking up a toy, he waved it vaguely in Nari’s direction. “ _공주_ _,_ _이리와_ _._ _아빠와_ _놀고_ _싶니_ _?_ ”

Immediately, Nari started to wriggle and whine. Connie helped her up out of her lap, picking her up with one arm and setting her on her feet. “Off you go, go to your _아빠_.”

Nari toddled away, plopping down next to her father and promptly taking the offered toy. Face lit up with a unique joy, Wash kissed the top of her head and picked up another toy to join in. Connie sat back and watched fondly. It felt like Nari had grown so fast.

A lot had changed, since the trial had ended. Time seemed to have flown by and before they knew it, it had been almost five years since the guilty verdict, since everyone started to move on with their lives. The Luminous-VI system had, for the most part, recovered from the events of the war. Having been lucky enough to never see Covenant activity, it didn’t have to suffer through the process of re-terraforming and with the trade routes reopened, the now largely self-sufficient colonies had been allowed to thrive. Upon their eventual return the UNSC—now supposedly back under the control of the UEG—had found a system that was getting by fine on its own and, though they certainly made their presence felt, they did little to interfere with day-to-day life.

Of course, the process of healing was far from over; Luminous-VI wasn’t immune from the impacts of the war, from the lost soldiers or the impact of being left to fend for themselves. But things were getting better and soon enough, natives and refugees alike were making lives here.

The remains of Alpha Squad were no exception.

After the mercenary trio had dropped Maine and Wash off on Luminescence, they’d returned to their flat and continued the life they started only with more stability, less unsurety. With a little money coming in from the UNSC—nicknamed the ‘shut the fuck up fund’ by South—they were able to get firmly on their feet.

Of course, the more substantial sum of money that the mercs gave them _also_ helped.

Regular visits and video calls had let Connie, South and Carolina watch them start to settle and start to flourish. Adjusting to civilian life wasn’t ever going to be easy, but despite the chaotic nature of the years between the fall and the trial they had given Maine and Wash a head-start on the process. No longer having to worry about being found or their friends being in danger—well, mostly—had made it a lot easier to focus on recovering from everything that had happened.

Within a couple of years, Wash was waking up himself more mornings than he wasn’t and Maine had stopped hearing Sigma’s voice so often. By the third, they were married—Maine finally getting a last name. And, a little over a year and a half prior, they’d completed the process of adopting little Nari.

Connie had watched her two best friends find their place in the galaxy and build a life together. After everything that had happened, she was grateful for that.

She watched them play for a little while before she pulled her PC back onto her lap, closed her work and instead opened up her communications. A routine message from Whistler and Castor, a message from Glitch, a couple of job offers and another ridiculous photograph from York. Him and North on some tourist trap of a moon somewhere, one of many on their _very_ drawn out trip back towards Luminous-VI. One day they’d actually get here and maybe settle down, but for now they were doing things their own way. ‘Their own way’ just so happened to involve sending ridiculous amounts of cheesy vacation photos.

“James sent another photo from their latest stop,” she said, making the image full screen and turning her PC around. Wash, who had a toddler’s foot in his face, chuckled.

“Heh. What an asssss—” his eyes widened, Connie’s brow raised, and he stumbled for a moment, “—butt! What a butt!”

Connie tutted. “I don’t know, Seo-Jun, you tell _me_ off for ‘obscene gestures’ and then almost _swear aloud_ in front of your daughter? For shame.”

A toy came sailing at her head. “Shut up.”

Giggling, Connie turned the PC back around and replied to the message with a quick update of her own. There wasn’t much to report, but she relayed how they were staying at Maine and Wash’s for the week again and let York know that Wash had called him an ‘asssss-butt’. She figured he’d get a laugh out of that.

After all, some things never changed.

Other things, however—

The front door opened not long after Connie had decided she no longer wanted to miss out on the fun and had started playing with Wash and Nari. Nari’s attention was caught as quickly as the adults’; immediately discarding a stuffed rabbit she’d been playing with she toddled towards the door and latched onto the first leg she found.

Which just so happened to be Carolina’s.

“Oh— uh—” Carolina stared down at Nari, chuckling. “Hey, kiddo, um— I don’t want to step on her?” was what she said, but the look on her face was a familiar cry for help. Insurrectionists, bounty hunters, UNSC soldiers, hostile planets—all faced down with relative ease, but personally handling a toddler was still a _little_ outside her comfort zone.

Wash was half-up and chuckling when Maine stepped inside, one arm laden with bags, and scooped Nari up. She giggled and clung onto their shirt, reaching to pat their face; perfectly secure, practically perched on their arm as they held her.

Carolina exhaled, ruffling Nari’s hair a little. “Thanks, Mateja.”

“There’s the sprog, hey you little butt.” South hip-checked Carolina out of the way—much to her laughter-tinted protest—to bump her fist against Nari’s, where it curled in Maine’s shirt. “Got you another noisy toy your parents are gonna hate, how about that?”

“Really? Again?” Wash said, raising a brow. South grinned proudly. “You were _with_ Mateja, how did you even find time to find a toy specifically for that purpose?”

“By being a sneaky little sh— uh— I don’t have a substitute for shit there.”

Wash groaned.

“Careful Tasha, he threatened to throw me out for flipping the bird around her earlier,” Connie said, grinning cheekily at Wash, who simply rolled his eyes with a half-smile as he got up to help Mateja with the bags. “What? You did!”

“Wow, Seo-Jun, that’s harsh,” Carolina said, smirk audible in her voice as she folded her arms.

“Oh don’t you start too.”

She held her hands up. “I’m not starting anything.”

“Hey, hey, Charlotte, come here,” Connie said, holding her arms up towards her. “He still calls your ‘boss’ sometimes, he won’t kick me out if you’re in his way.”

“That was _one_ time!”

Carolina chuckled, jumping over the back of the couch onto its seat (“There is literally space to walk around, Charlotte, why—?”) and leaning down to scoop Connie up, settling her in her lap. Connie hummed happily, nestling into the crook of Carolina’s neck. Grinned, when a kiss pressed against her forehead.

And then huffed, a sound accompanied by Carolina’s laughter, as South passed them both by and ruffled their hair.

“ _Tasha!_ ”

South grinned. “What?”

Really, as much had stayed the same as it had changed. Their experiences had fundamentally altered parts of each of them, of course they had, but they were still the same people. A little rougher around the edges, a little worse for wear, but working on it.

It had been almost three years since Connie had felt the last lingering feelings of blame she directed at herself for what had happened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a nightmare about Jarrett and her wound, or the last time that she’d woken up to find South laid awake staring at the ceiling. There were still days when Carolina struggled with the expectations she placed on herself, but she didn’t deal with it alone anymore.

They were moving on. Just like Carolina had wanted, the past wasn’t holding them back.

South dropped down at Carolina’s side, draping an arm over her shoulder; from there, she could even play with Connie’s hair. “Oh yeah by the fuckin’ way, whilst we were out the radio started picking up some talk on the local police networks. Someone dropped them a tip-off that we’re in the city again.”

“ _Already_?” Connie said, groaning and burying her face against Carolina’s skin. “We’ve been here for like, two days. We haven’t even taken a job!”

“Someone probably spotted the ship,” Carolina said. She dropped her head against South, rubbed slow circles on Connie’s hip.

“You guys really need to find out who it is around here who keeps reporting you,” Wash called from the adjoining kitchen, over the sounds of cupboards opening and rustling bags. “You know, maybe make them _stop_? I’m getting tired of fending off the police and the UNSC.”

South snorted, throwing her head over the back of the sofa. “Oh please, that’s fucking easy. Just have Mateja stand behind you and look all fucking intimidating. Works for me and I’m just _regular_ too-fucking-tall.”

“Just because it’s easy doesn’t mean I’m not tired of it!”

“Have we even made any enemies around here? Who has enough of a grudge against us to spend _this much time_ looking out for our Pelican?” Carolina said, brows knitted in thought.

“Babe, please, of course we have. We’ve done so many fucking jobs here, there’s always someone who holds a grudge—” (“Fair point.”) “—but to be _this_ relentless…”

Connie snapped her fingers. “Laurant.”

“Oh _shit_ yeah, _that_ asshole.”

Carolina raised a brow. “Laurant…?”

“Y’know, the dude that swore he was gonna make our lives a living hell just because we stole some shit from him.”

“ _Oh_. Now that you mention it…” Carolina shook her head and chuckled. “Honestly I’d forgotten about him, that job was rather generic.”

“But he sure was fucking pissed. Though if he thinks _this_ makes our lives a living hell, he _really_ needs to up his game. More of a fucking petty inconvenience. Wastes more of his fucking time than ours.”

“It still might be worth paying him a visit. I am getting a _little_ tired of our visits here getting interrupted by the authorities,” Connie said, kicking South’s hip lightly.

“Yeaaah.”

“We’ll drop by when we’re leaving,” Carolina said.

Her partners nodded in agreement and settled down again, South nuzzling her face into Carolina’s hair whilst still playing with Connie’s, whilst Connie herself stretched her legs out over South’s lap. If given enough time they’d slowly have descended into a tangle of limbs that took up the entire couch, a sight that Wash and Maine had both wandered in on more than once, but South’s radio buzzed long before that could happen.

“ _Fuck_.” South groaned, picking it up. Tuning into the police channel, they could hear that the chatter had become more focused. “Yeah okay we’re gonna have visitors. Hey! Seo-Jun! You got like half an hour to psyche yourself up to tell the police to fuck off again!”

“Great. Totally looking forward to it.”

“Yeah yeah, you sarcastic little shit.”

Thirty minutes later and the all too familiar routine began.

The first time they’d been reported during a visit they hadn’t had any advance warning; the UNSC had simply shown up at the door and they’d been forced to climb out of one of the back windows to get away before they searched the house. Luckily, that was the only time they came with any probable cause; since then, they’d been unable to justify entering.

So rather than clambering out of windows, they hid themselves up in the spare room and eavesdropped on the conversation downstairs.

Wash opened the door with a look of flat irritation only seconds after the first knock. “Hello again.”

“Sir, we have reason to believe—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. You have reason to believe that I’m harbouring a group of mercenaries,” he said, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame. Raising a brow, he remained almost deadpan as Maine came up behind him and stood there—almost, it was hard to hold back laughter when he _knew_ Maine’s head wasn’t visible in the opening. Just their torso, all muscles and crossed arms.

But hey, it worked. One of the officers even visibly gulped, completely oblivious to the fact that Maine was smirking.

“Look, we’ve been through this countless times. _You_ don’t have a warrant. There’s _no one_ _here_ but _me_ , my _spouse_ and my two year old daughter who’s currently _sleeping_ ,” he said, emphasising the word with a firm glare. Up in the spare room, Nari giggled as she hid under the covers from the others, playing. “You’re wasting your own time just as much as you’re wasting mine. So how about we skip the usual questions and you just leave?”

One of the officers opened their mouth to protest, only for a single grunt from Maine to make their mouth snap shut as quickly as it had opened. Wash coughed to cover a chuckle; after the first couple of times, they’d stopped sending experienced officers. Checking the house at all seemed almost a formality at this point.

“Right, sir. Sorry to bother you,” the officer said—

As Wash closed the door in their face.

Turning back to Maine with a grin, he waited until he was sure they’d left before starting to laugh. “Holy shit, how does that work _every time?_ ”

Maine shrugged. <Gullible. Easily intimidated.>

“No kidding. I mean, you _are_ just as strong as you look and could _completely_ crush them but _still_.” He shook his head, leaning up and beckoning Maine down into his reach. “C’mere you big softy.”

Maine rumbled, a deep sound that resonated from their chest, and leaned down to kiss him.

“Get a room!”

The kiss parted as they both started laughing, heads dropping together. Wash threw up a middle figure over their shoulder and he didn’t need to see to know that South returned it.

“You guys just had to go into mercenary work, didn’t you?” Wash said, as South slowly slid down the bannister holding Nari and the others walked down the stairs. “And please give me my daughter before you drop her.”

“I had a tight hold on her it’s fucking _fine_ ,” South said with a roll of her eyes, but she handed Nari over with a hair ruffle anyway. “And yeah, we fucking did; not everyone got to settle down in a flat and get money by carrying heavy shit for locals, _guys_.”

Maine shrugged. It was quick money.

Wash rolled his eyes, barely suppressing his grin. Settling Nari comfortably on his hip he kissed her head. “We probably need to put you down for your actual bedtime soon, don’t we _공주님_?”

“Story?” Nari said, reaching up to tug at his hair.

“Story,” Wash said, bouncing her. “Let’s watch one episode of your show first and then it’s bedtime.”

Migrating back over to the sitting area everyone slouched around, the minor interruption forgotten. Wash passed Nari to Maine and pulled up a recording of her favourite show, smiling as they laid on the floor and let Nari sit on their chest. She looked even smaller, compared to her giant renny.

“As soon as she’s in bed, we’re totally ordering in a crap-tonne of pizza and watching a crap-tonne of movies right?” South said, now draped over Carolina’s lap with Connie sat on the floor in front of her. “Because, y’know, it’s movie night.”

“You want to order _five people’s worth_ of pizza and sides to the house when we _just_ told the police that there’s only two adults here?” Wash said, staring at her. South grinned at him.

“Frick yeah I do. They’re not getting in the way of movie night. Look, we all know they know we’re here and we all know they can’t do crap about it. The opportunity to rub that in is just a bonus,” she said.

“…you know what, fair. Yeah, we’ll order a ‘crap-tonne’ of pizza.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“ _Natasha!_ ”

South snickered.

Once Nari was tucked away in bed, soundly asleep, Wash made good on his word and they ordered an obscene amount of pizza. Open pizza boxes were spread around the surfaces in the living area, arranged so that everything someone liked was within their reach. Maine had an entire large pizza for themself and didn’t stop there, with their closest challenger being Carolina only a couple of slices behind.

They watched action movies and laughed; lounged around all over each other and chatted; scoffed down piles of junk and pestered each other. The atmosphere was comfortable and bright, buzzing with energy. Maybe they’d seen the movies a thousand times, laughed at the ridiculousness of the action sequences a thousand times, made the same jokes a thousand times, but they didn’t care. It was an old tradition.

On some level, it may even have been an acknowledgement that they’d made it.

But really, mostly, it was just fun to spend time with family.

Hours passed and the energy in the room became more subdued. It was dark outside and the living area was lit up only by the shine of the TV and the faint light bleeding from the kitchen. All of the food was gone and the movie ran mostly ignored in the background.

Wash had long since curled up on Maine’s chest, them draped out over the entire length of the couch—legs extending past the armrest. Not asleep, but close enough; listening to the sound of Maine’s heartbeat and the deep rumbling that they made just for him. Their hand laced into his hair and a fond look centred on him.

On the floor and trapped between both of her partners lay South, with Carolina at her back and Connie tucked into the curve of her body. Her fingers danced along Connie’s spine, or played with her hair. Breath tickled the exposed skin at the back of her neck and soft kisses traced the muscles in her shoulders; an arm looped around her and a warm body pressed close.

The smile on her face was goofy, but she didn’t care.

“Mm, remind me that I need to contact Beth in the morning… check up on her and Alpha…” Connie mumbled, melting into South’s gentle touch. Tingles ran up her spine and she nuzzled against the hand in her hair. “S’been a while.”

“Mm’kay. I’ll remind you, you forgetful little shit.”

“ _Tired_ little shit, actually.”

“You can be both,” Carolina added, muffled slightly. The movement of her lips tickled. “We’ll remind you. Don’t worry. It’s not as if we’re going anywhere.”

“Mmhm. Nothing to do but—” she yawned, pressed her face into South’s chest, “—relax…”

“We should _probably_ move up to the spare room,” Carolina said, though the words lacked conviction when she clung to South tighter. “Not sleep here on the floor.”

“Probably,” South said, equally non-committal and tucking Connie against her. “Maybe in a minute.”

They had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 공주, 이리와. 아빠와 놀고 싶니? = Princess, come here. Wanna play with dad(dy)?  
> 아빠 = Dad(dy)  
> 공주님 = Princess
> 
>  **Sappy Long-Winded End Note:** This fic has been an entire year of my writing life and I'm honestly really glad I made it, even if its been difficult keeping up motivation at times. There's not really any femslash long-fic in this fandom, especially not for the freelancer ladies, so I'm happy to have contributed. I'm proud of myself for pulling it off.
> 
> It's been fun to write these characters going through their character development and to see where the story took me. It was important to me that Connie's arc was allowed to have a conclusion; whilst in canon, the conclusion was her death, here she was able to finish what she'd started. To do so, it became an inevitability that Carolina would be involved; finding and confronting the Director is her story and whilst Connie had a right to see it through, to do so without Carolina would have felt wrong. And, whilst it wasn't as central to the story as Connie's, South's arc was just as important: she had to be able to live life as an individual, to do the things she wanted to do, to show what she was best at—to not be held back by her brother's shadow anymore. 
> 
> And being me, I had to give them a good ending. It's why I made what is essentially an everyone lives AU :P


End file.
